


Five Years

by lordofthepotatoes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Anger, Betrayal, Death Threats, Gangs, Gangsters, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mental Instability, Revenge, Robbery, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordofthepotatoes/pseuds/lordofthepotatoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of committing various crimes, Dean’s picked up and put where he belongs with a sentence of five years. Though, prison isn't exactly what he expected. Who knows, maybe it won’t be as bad as he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, yeah, here I am with another fic! I've been holding onto this for a couple of weeks to make sure it's perfect and, to me, I don't think it's gonna get any better than this so it was time to post! This is, however, a little test of the water first just to see if you like it! (Which I sincerely hope you do because there's a good little plot to this one and I hope I've triggered some interest with this!) Anyway, the plot ranges over Dean's years inside and how he faces and copes with prison life on a day to day basis. So, please enjoy this first chapter of many! :3

_4 Years 11 Months to go._

 

***

 

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip…_

 

“Benny-” Dean grumbled in his sleep, pulling the scratchy blankets over his ear, as he tried to settle himself again - _Ignore the sound._ He received a grunt in reply. “Damn it - It’s your turn!” He hissed, peeling open an eye to look over his shoulder.

 

“Uh huh.” The figure on the steel bed next to him breathed, unmoving.

 

“ _Dick._ ” Dean bounced up in his temper, throwing the covers back to get up and empty the full bucket to stop that incessant _drip_ that came from the tiled ceiling.

 

If he had for one second thought that going to prison would entail emptying a bucket full of water every _fucking_ night at in and around four am – then maybe he would have chosen what he did with his time on the outside a little more wisely.

 

“Winchester!” There was a bright light in his face now. He groaned again, squinting, holding a hand up to block the harsh light. _Where did these bastards keep coming from?_ He swore to God, every time he turned around in this place, one of more of them was breathing down his neck. “What are you doing, boy?”

 

Dean looked at him, bucket in hand, as though it was obvious. “Emptying the bucket.”

 

“It’ll have to wait until morning – You’re not authorized to leave your cell block until morning.” The correctional officer drawled patronizingly, bushy eyebrows raised. Dean’s face fell firm as he set the bucket down at his feet, letting out a breath. “You’ll want to get your rest for tomorrow, won’t you?”

 

Dean remained silent.

 

“Answer me, son.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Dean mouthed, blinking, still feeling blinded by that bright light.

 

“Good boy.”

 

“Whatever, man.” Dean said so quietly it was hardly audible, going to get back into bed as the flash light flicked off again finally and the click of shoes filled the block as the Fuck-Wad on legs made his way back to his station at the top of the block. _God Damn Screws._ But, he wasn’t about to risk getting thrown in Solitary for being a bit mouthy over a plastic bucket.

 

Definitely not worth it.

 

Dean heard Benny stifle a chuckle and then the rustle of sheets on the bed next to his as his bunk mate turned to smirk at him. “Wacky Zachy has it out for ya, brother.” Benny chuckled lowly.

 

“...Bastard, you knew it was his rounds tonight, didn’t you?” Dean hissed, fixing his pillows again, while his heavily bearded friend tried to hold in his laughter. “I swear to God, Benny-”

 

“I don’t get a lot’a laughs these days – don’t deny me the simpler ones.”

 

“Yeah, man, you can go to hell.” Dean sulked, his heavy eyes falling shut again. Benny let out the last of his laughs and soon they were replaced by the soft snoring that matched the others around them.

 

Such was prison life.

 

Such was getting shit on by C.O.’s, such was getting shit on at four in the morning for the sake of a view laughs, such was his life now – and God, was it anything but what he had expected.

 

When people spoke about prison it was all _‘Don’t drop the soap!’_ and gangs and drugs and _‘Think of all the sweet prison tatt’s!’_ and…Well, everything this place wasn’t.

 

Honestly, Havens Borough Correctional Center was anything but daunting – it was actually kind of pathetic.

 

Before he’d arrived, that full month ago, he’d imagined a dark, damp place (which wasn’t _too_ far from wrong) where the men were locked in cells and let out for _maybe_ an hour a day – if they were lucky. Where misery just oozed right from the very core of the place like some kind of faulty generator.. Where one wrong look at the wrong person would probably land you right on your death bed before your time.

 

And, yeah, he wasn’t going to lie, the place was pretty fucking depressing, it was still prison for God’s sake, pathetic or not – but it was bearable. Or, it was so far, anyway.

 

Of course, there were those guys you had to watch yourself around, for _all_ reasons. And there were those guys that dealt in shadier businesses behind the Screws’ backs – but, if you didn’t look, you didn’t find. That was that. You got on with your business and stayed out of everyone else’s.

 

During his first night, Benny Lafitte, his bunk mate, had indulged him in some advice – ‘Keep yourself to yourself, an’ your time’ll go a helluvalot faster.’

 

So, Dean had abided by that, and while the time didn’t _seem_ to be going very fast, at least he was out of trouble for once in his life – so, he really couldn’t complain.

 

But, now that he was lying in bed, staring at the cold white tiles above him, the sound of the dripping still making his teeth grind, he was honestly starting to feel a little home sick for the first time in a long time.

 

Honestly, Dean didn’t know what _‘home-sickness’_ felt like, since he’d never really had a home, but if he had, then he was certain this is what it would feel like.

 

It was a longing sensation that made his stomach twist uncomfortably – like a hunger that just wouldn’t be satisfied. He wanted to get back to his familiarities. His job, his weekend benders, his car, his _baby_. He missed the idea of just being able to climb into the front seat and take off. Listen to her hum – feel the warmth of her leather. Just all those silly things he took for granted. He wouldn’t see Baby for five whole years – four years, eleven months, _to be exact_.

 

And then when he thought some more, he thought about traipsing into Bobby’s, with his brother at his side, and they’d sit on that rickety table in the kitchen and just eat whatever was going. Or, when they’d decide to take themselves to New York for the weekend, just because, or down to the lake about a hundred miles from Bobby’s.

 

Even just to hear one of Bobby’s snarky comments right now would have made him feel better.

 

Yeah, he still got to see them once a month, Sam more if he had reason to make an appointment, but it wasn’t the same.

 

Dean turned sharply on his side, and stared at the wall now, hoping a different view would dull his thoughts – no such luck. God, he missed what he’d had, but admitting it out loud was not an option.

 

So, instead he opted for going to sleep – or, at least, trying too – since finding a distraction other than four half walls and a ceiling was a rarity.

 

***

 

The next morning, he was summoned for a visit with his councillor, Anna Milton - _and what a pleasant individual she was._

 

No, really, Dean supposed she wasn’t all that bad. He certainly could have had worse.

 

So, after lining up to use the showers for their block, and putting on his uniform grey pull over and sweats and black boots, Wacky Zacky was in the laundry room, swinging his baton and yelling Dean’s last name like the obnoxious _douchebag_ he was. Dean dropped the pile of clothes into one of the huge washers and walked to meet him.

 

“Officer Milton wants to see you.”

 

“Alright.” Dean mumbled, pushing his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his boots. “Why?”

 

“For tea and cake.”

 

Dean smiled wryly, brushing past him, to head towards his councillor’s office, all the while willing himself not to say something sarcastic in return – he’d learned in his short time here that is certainly wasn’t worth it.

 

He wrapped twice before entering the cramped room, announcing himself with a soft cough. Officer Milton (Or, _Just Anna_ , as she insisted to be called for some reason he wasn’t sure off. Maybe it was a confidence booster thing? Whatever, he gave up trying to work it out) looked up from behind a mountain of pages and smiled, motioning for him to sit. Though, Dean’s eyes were glued to the cup of coffee steaming away on the desk next to her. The smell was so rich, it made his mouth water. It had felt like an eternity since his last real cup of coffee and man, he missed that buzz.

 

“Hello Dean, how’re you doing today?” She asked, leaning on top of all the paperwork, closed mouth smile tight.

 

“Alright, I guess.” Dean eventually let his eyes settle back on her, where he mirrored her smile. She nodded and got to sorting through his notes.

 

Anna was good at her job, and what Dean liked most, she didn’t drag it out. Initially, he’d dreaded the thoughts of some touchy-feely sit-down that entailed crying your heart out for thirty minutes about how the system hates you and how _‘My Bunk Mate smells like a fuckin’ foot, man!’_

 

The things he’d heard in passing – you’d never believe – but, Anna, wasn’t one of _those_ C.O.’s.

 

While she was getting everything together, Dean took a breath and sat back in the chair. Damn, it was comfortable. The whole room was comfortable - Four mint green walls, nice white desk in the centre, one of those jars that looked like they could hold everything from a needle to an anchor, a vase of purple coloured flowers and some notice boards with more pin holes than actual notices. It was nice – well, nicer than anywhere else in this joint.

 

“So,” Officer Milton looked up again, flicking her red hair over her shoulder. Dean stared at her “How’s everything? Are you settling in okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “As far as prison goes, everything’s fine.”

 

“Alright, good.” She ticked something off. “How do you like your job? What is it they have you in again?” Anna looked up from the page entitled _’Dean Winchester Personal Notes’_. Dean cringed.

 

“Laundry.” He said, adjusting his position in the chair. “It’s fine. Can’t complain.”

 

“Fine?”

 

“Yeah. It’s just washing clothes – not exactly what you’d call heart stopping-”

 

“But you’re happy in it?”

 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. Anna nodded, clearing her throat before the next question passed her lips.

 

“How about rec time? How’s that to your liking?”

 

“Great.” _Yeah, as great and entertaining as a too small TV room and a large field can get._

 

“Good. And you’re happy with your visitation list?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“And your Block Mates?”

 

“There’s no problem there either.”

 

“Excellent.” Anna exclaimed, setting her pen down with a bit of a breathy laugh. “Well, you certainly know how to make things easy for me.”

 

“It’s not intentional, I promise.” Dean smirked. Anna hummed, glancing down at the page again.

 

“Usually inmates have a little more to say after their first month in a Correctional Centre.”

 

Dean shrugged again, letting his eyes wander, before he answered her. “Suppose I’m good at adjusting.”

 

“Maybe so. Maybe that’s to your advantage.” Officer Milton watched him while she smoothed the edges of his sheets. Dean remained quiet, half preparing himself to ask if that was that and he could get back to work, but Anna was already talking again. “So, I received a phone call from your brother slash lawyer the other day.”

 

“Sam?” Dean said, sitting forward now. “What did he say?”

 

“I’m not really at liability to tell you that.” She bit her lip, face falling at Dean’s obvious discontent, so she continued hurriedly “But, what I will tell you, is that you have an appointment with him come the end of the week.”

 

“Awesome.” Dean spared his first real smile. That could only mean good news. Sam didn’t just ‘make appointments’ for any old reason.

 

Another laugh escaped Anna’s lips as she set his papers to the side and clasped her hands on the desk in front of her. “Indeed. So, is that everything for today?”

 

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean lingered on the chair for a second, because yes, it was the most comfortable thing his ass had had the pleasure of sitting on for over a month, and yes, that coffee was still making his mouth water – but, alas, he had work to get back too.

 

So, he left, hauling the sleeves of his baggy pull over up, and headed down the bright hall. Sometimes this place reminded him of a hospital – though, hospitals didn’t have bars on the windows – but it was to the same affect.

 

Everything was that off white shade and the floors were that slide-y lemon coloured laminate stuff that could land you on your ass in five seconds flat if boots weren’t mandatory. The people – inmates – were slow like their bones were aching with some illness, though Benny had assured him that walking like that was an appearance thing. Dean didn’t really get it – but he was smart enough not to question it.

 

One thing he did question, though, and often, was the smell. Jesus, he had wondered for the best part of the month what the hell had died within these walls to make it smell so fucking terrible – but then he realised the answer was that living in a building with about a hundred other men was going to do that. Dean decided living in the monkey enclosure at the zoo might have smelt a little better.

 

He passed the Pysch Block, peering in the fine messed gate as he did. The painfully long hall that lead to another, thicker, set of black doors on the far side. The sorry bastards down there didn’t have the luxury of walking around like he did. To put it into perspective, the Psych Block was the Pound of Havens Borough. They got locked up in their own cells, got sedated when they misbehaved and the good ones got let out every now and again. Dean just wondered what the hell they’d done to wind themselves up there in the first place.

 

He shook his head and walked on.

 

A month, though it didn’t seem like an incredibly long time, was enough to show the whole ‘prison concept’ for what it really was – and for someone who’d been in and out of boy’s homes and various other institutions his whole life, there was no real difference between here and there.

 

Havens Borough was just one big boys home for slightly older guys who’d done slightly worse things.

 

Dean had accepted it for what it was – _four years and eleven months to go._

 

***

 

Who would have thought doing laundry could be therapeutic? Not Dean, that was for sure. But now, for some reason completely unbeknown to him, the hum of the washer was beginning to sound like a soft lull and the warm clothes out of the dryer felt like fluffy blankets.

 

If he shut his eyes for long enough, that was what they became – so, he avoided doing that, because sleeping on the job could probably get him thrown in Sole.

 

He leant against the dryer with his arms crossed, waiting for the cycle to end, staring into space. Generally, it was just him down here, apart from Brooklyn, the older guy that napped behind the far washer – but Dean was happy enough with that. Honestly, he didn’t mind if the guy wanted to sleep – he was old, and was probably sick to the back teeth of doing this job for so many years.

 

Though, he was curious about the name – What sort of a guy was called Brooklyn?

 

But as he was counting down the seconds in his mind until the dryer stopped drying, a rough cough startled him. Dean opened his eyes, blinking them a couple of times, focusing them on just what was in front of him.

 

A man – yes, clarified, there were only men here bar the Screws – but, this one was covered in something red…Like, sores? Hives? No. Rashes. Those were rashes.

 

Dean straightened himself up and sauntered over, peeling his eyes away from the very obvious looking red spots. The guy was leaning on the folding table, watching him with beady brown eyes.

 

“Wash won’t be ready for another ten minutes if that’s what you’re lookin’ for…” Dean scratched the corner of his mouth with his thumb. The guy didn’t move. He just stared – glared, actually. Dean laughed, all bit it, a little nervously. “Dude, c’mon, don’t look at me like I’m dinner-”

 

“Do you see these?” He said suddenly, pulling up his jumper to reveal even more, even bigger, red patches that were covering his whole body. Dean made a face.

 

“Kinda hard not to notice when you’re exposing yourself to me.” His brow furrowed then instead as his eyes met with the smaller man’s again. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, buddy, but I wash clothes…They don’t train us in medical procedure here.”

 

He went to turn, rolling his eyes heavily, before a hand caught the back of his sweater and tugged him back. That would have been fine, where it not for the black boot that caught the back of his legs and sent him downwards. Dean groaned when the back of his head met the ground, but then the same boot was crushing down on his chest only a second after he’d realised what had occurred. “What the fuck-”

 

“I’ll tell you ‘what the fuck.’” The man said. “Where you actually stupid enough to ignore my note?”

 

“What note? What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean barked, hands trying to force the boot off him.

 

“ _Don’t_ play dumb with me, Winchester, it won’t work. You got my God Damn note. It was in with _my_ clothes.” Dean looked up at him with an ever confused expression. _What the fuck was happening right now?_ “This,” he gestured to himself. “is your fault. I’m allergic to that detergent – fucking, obviously.” Dean blinked and suddenly the weight was gone. He was about to seize the opportunity and stand up when the man was standing over him again with the huge bottle of detergent, unscrewing the cap, placing his foot back on Dean’s ribs.

 

“Dude, I didn’t get your note! Clearly I didn’t get it-” Dean put his hands up in defence, putting two and two together.

 

“Clearly.” Brown eyes batted his lashes, bottom lip pouting out. He tipped the bottle, spilling a little on Dean’s chest before he yelled again.

 

“Get the fuck off me or I swear that rash is gonna look good in comparison.”

 

“You threatening me?”

 

“What do you think, dumbass-” Dean snapped just before the bottle was tipped downwards and he was soaked in the good smelling stuff. The empty bottle hit his stomach and he was hauled up by the collar, eyes still squeezed shut.

 

“I don’t get threatened, Princess.” He hissed close to Dean’s face. If he could have opened his eyes then, he would have, but unfortunately the thickness of the detergent wouldn’t allow for it. He wasn’t scared of this guy – if they were out of here, he’d lay him flat in two seconds. Hell, he’d put guys in hospital for less. That was _his_ job. But, he guessed being in here, had made him kind of slow.

 

“Edgar!” The voice of another man filled their ears then and he was dropped to the ground in a heap. “Care to explain this?”

 

“But, of course.” Dean finally took this time to pull his sleeves down to wipe his eyes. “See, I was just telling Dean here that I gotta have my clothes hand washed or this’ll happen.” Dean figured he was showing the wandering C.O. his spots. “Then he had a nasty fall and I was just helping him up…As you can see, he was carrying the detergent bottle too.” Edgar actually laughed a bit.

 

Dean finally turned, eyes half opened, stinging with the strong-ness of the stuff that was covering him to find Officer B (Bartholomew McNulty) standing in the entrance.

 

“Is that true?” He asked, looking at Dean now. Dean nodded, getting to his feet again, going to see to the dryer now that it had finally finished it’s cycle. “Alright, Edgar, then explain why you’re here and not in work-” Dean zoned out then.

 

One thing he did know about prison, and every other place he’d been – don’t be a snitch.

 

***

 

The end of the week finally came around and Dean was being escorted to the front of the prison by Wacky Zachy on one side and B on the other, hand cuffs a little too tight on his wrists.

 

Dean was going to see Sam today for the first time in a month, and man, he was ecstatic. He knew they were supposed to be talking about his case, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to use this as a little catch up time – He’d missed far too much Doctor Sexy M.D for his liking.

 

A door was unlocked and he was ushered inside and placed on a seat – one hand taken out of it’s cuff for it to be secured on the leg of the table. Dean let them get about their business while he waited for his little brother to come in. He was sure he was grinning, but right now, he hardly cared.

 

Finally, the C.O.’s left him alone in the room and only a second later, Sam entered, looking all lawyered-up in his fancy suit, leather briefcase in one hand and two take away coffee cups in a cardboard tray in the other. Dean was proud.

 

“I’m not allowed to hug you.” Sam said through his teeth as he made his was in, setting the coffee down. “But, I can shake your hand, so,” He rearranged his briefcase to put out his large hand with a smile that matched his elder brother’s. “Good to see you again.”

 

“Yeah, man, you said it.” Dean shook his hand tightly, letting out what felt like a breath of relief. But, then he realised that there were _indeed_ two cups of coffee sitting in front of him. “Dude…You didn’t…” He mouthed, eyes widening, while Sam took his chair across and began opening his case. His little brother laughed.

 

“You’d be surprised how many inmates’ day I make by bringing an extra cup of coffee.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’ve made this ones life time.” Dean reached forward with one hand, struggling to get it free. Sam set his notes aside to help him, laughing at Dean’s awkwardness.

 

“Little eager there?”

 

“Damn fucking straight. Do you know how tired of hot water with essence of coffee I am?”

 

Sam chuckled again, shaking his head. “I can imagine,” He said, leaning back in his chair, glancing at the mirror behind Dean, letting him enjoy his moment with the coffee.

 

And, God, was he enjoying it. He hadn’t even tasted it yet – just took the cap off and inhaled the thickness of it. Real, strong, coffee. _Awesome_. He’d almost forgot Sam was there until the other clicked his fingers at him. Dean snapped his eyes open and glared.

 

“Shut up.” He grumbled, coffee cup still held tight in his hand. “Get to why you’re here.”

 

“Okay,” Sam took a breath and sat forward again with a smile. “so, after some extensive research and watching and re-watching store C.C.T.V footage for _hours_ on end – which, I’ll have you know, almost had me kicked out on my ass a couple of times by Mrs Winchester-”

 

“I always did like Jess.” Dean interjected with a grin, taking his first sip, physically having to refrain himself from making a noise. He didn’t want to freak Sam out – but, _fuck_ , this coffee was too good.

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Right, anyway,” His eyes landed back on Dean, waiting for him to look up. “I have enough evidence to bring your case back to court – lower you in-time.”

 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Dean said, setting the coffee down slowly. “Like, you are, you’re fucking kidding, aren’t you?”

 

“Nope.” Sam smirked.

 

“By how much?”

 

“Dunno yet, but you’re looking at a good two years.” Dean’s face lit up like a beacon.

 

“That’s awesome!” He thumped the table a little over-excitedly. “What’d you find? On the tape, I mean.”

 

“Alright, so, that night when you guys broke into the store – you were all armed right?”

 

“Yeah.” Dean shrugged.

 

“Well, after some careful inspection - on the _worst_ filmed footage I have ever seen - I found that out of the five of you, someone didn’t raise his weapon-”

 

“Don’t be disgusting, Sammy.”

 

Sam gave him a stoney look, blinking in silence before he sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Can you get your mind out of the gutter for like…I don’t know…Five minutes?” He exclaimed. “I’m trying to get you out of here.”

 

Dean chuckled. “Prison, man. How’d you prove it though?”

 

“Because of your gun, Dean.” Sam filed through the pages and picked out two terribly grainy pictures; one of Dean’s .45 up close in the waistline of his pants, and the other was a wide shot of the whole scene.

 

It actually brought something of a smile to Dean’s face. Not the robbery itself, but his gun. That was one of the other things he missed – it was such a good looking gun. There it was tucked in his waist band while he unloaded the tills, the rest of them holding up the clerks with covered faces, yet he knew each and every one of them. “So, the weapons got mixed up when you guys were lifted and because you were wearing gloves,” Dean’s smile grew, realising what Sam was saying, “they weren’t able to tell whose was whose.” Sam huffed a laugh, tucking the pages away again.

 

“You’re good, Sammy.”

 

“Anyway, I was able to get my hands on it for evidence purposes. And, obviously, I can prove it was yours because _it was Dad’s_ and-

 

“And?” Dean willed him to go on.

 

“Well, that’s the first part of how I got your sentence lowered by about six months.” Sam chewed the inside of his lip.

 

“So, what’s part two?”

 

Sam was quiet for a second before he cleared his throat and leaned in. “Uh, well,” He swallowed “that parts up to you.” Dean stared at him. “…The court needs names Dean. I’m willing to bet you could finish this case up in a breath. There’s still two of your guys out there-”

 

“Oh, no…No.” Dean put his hands up. “No, I’m not gonna rat on them. They were – _are_ my friends.”

 

Sam glanced away for a second. Dean noticed the uneasiness that sounded louder than any confessing scream.

 

“What?”

 

His brother tapped his fingers on the desk. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

 

“Sam.” Dean barked. A rattle came from the window behind them. Dean settled back in his chair. “Start talking.”

 

“Alright, the night you were lifted…It wasn’t by accident.” Dean stayed quiet, jaw tightening as he realised what Sam was saying. “The court realised the information to me recently that one of your guys set your gang up. The whole thing was a fall right into the law’s arms…Someone wanted out, so he got you put inside.” Sam watched Dean carefully, waiting for him to blow. “Obviously that didn’t go as planned since there’s still two running around-”

 

“Which one of them did it?”

 

“Gordon.”

 

“Fucking spineless piece of cowardly shit-”

 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Sam consoled, nodding over Dean’s shoulder at the mirror to assure the C.O.’s he had the situation under control. “Gordon told the cops about your plans, got you and a Miss Bradbury landed inside. The two other men got away.”

 

“I’m here because of him?”

 

“More or less, yeah.” Sam nodded.

 

“Why isn’t he in here then?” Dean hissed.

 

“He’s in the Psychiatric Block, Dean, guys a nut case.” Sam exclaimed lowly. “He was torturing people-”

 

“What? When?”

 

“Around the time he was working for you - cutting them up, leaving them to bleed out…Horrendous case, seriously. Then one day the guy just ups and confesses. Turned goodliving, or something, beats me…But, he dragged you all down with him. Gave you up.”“He’s lucky he’s in Pysch. Fucking crazy bitch.” Dean growled before his eyes met Sam’s again. “And now you want me to tell you who the other two are?”

 

“Only if you want your sentenced lowered.” Then, out of no where, Dean was hit with the two biggest puppy-dog eyes, this side of Kansas.

 

“Dude-” He groaned. Sam blinked. “No.”

 

“Dean, two whole years-!”

 

“I don’t care, Sammy, they’re my friends.” Dean crossed his arms, looking away. He wasn’t going to get sucked into that trap.

 

“Just between us then.”

 

“You think I’m gonna fall for your lawyer bullshit? You’re shameless.”

 

“No, I’m trying to help you get out of here.”

 

“I’m not gonna put my friends in here.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Sam sighed. “I can still knock off six months.”

 

“Great. Good. That sounds wonderful.”

 

“Don’t be a dick about it, Dean.”

 

“You try acting as sweet as candy after being told one of your friends sold you out.” Dean fired his younger, but taller, brother the sourest look he could muster. It worked.

 

“I’m sorry, man, this is just – y’know, it’s hard.” Sam winced a bit. “I’m too close to this – I just want to get you out of here and honestly, I need all the help I can get.”

 

“You’re gonna have to look elsewhere, man.” Dean shook his head, features softening. “Six months less does sound good though.”

 

Sam departed shortly after, the soft click of the door shutting landing Dean back in reality. He was in prison because Gordon fucking Walker had up shit, run to the cops, and got him landed in here.

 

After everything Dean had done for the guy.

 

The Screws arrived to escort him back behind the bars of the inmates quarters. He kept his mouth shut the whole way there. He was just in utter shock. Gordon just never seemed like the type – clearly, Gordon was the type. Dean just hadn’t picked it up.

 

He thought about Charlie then and wondered if she knew the reason she was behind bars – man, she shouldn’t even have been there that night! She never came with them. Normally, it was just him, Garth and Gordon getting knee deep. Kevin and Charlie were the brains – and fuck, it just wasn’t what he’d expected at all.

 

But, the next thing he knew, he was back at his bunk and Benny was there as usual, sitting up on his bed, throwing a soft stress ball up in the air. He stopped when he noticed Dean was back.

 

“So? How’d it go?” Benny asked, leaning an arm on the steel head rail of his bed.

 

“Well, Sammy thinks I’ll get reduced by maybe six months.” Dean tried to sound happy about it but this whole Gordon thing was still eating him.

 

“Isn’ that supposed ta be a good thing?”

 

“Yeah, and it is, Benny, but fuck-” Dean growled under his breath, scrubbing his face hard with his palms. “Y’know, I don’t feel like talkin’ about it right now, man. Another time.”

 

“Got it, brother.” Benny nodded with a smile, twisting his cap before he went to stand. “Wanna go to the library?” Dean looked up, understanding the code word. Sure enough, there was a cigarette poking out of Benny’s sleeve. Dean stifled a laugh and stood up.

 

“Yeah, ain’t like I got anything better to do.”


	2. Secret Societies

_4 Years 6 Months to go._

Dean met Charlie Bradbury in the warm drought of a summer six months after his sixteenth birthday – ten full years ago to the month. He remembered the anniversary as though it was a wedding date. And in ways, he was married to her. They’d started this life together and finished it together; for rich and for richer. 

 

They’d proven their worth to a guy on the east side of town a couple of years later – a shady guy, the type they’d seen in countless movies – with dark eyes, more rings than necessary and an intimidating air so thick around him, it was suffocating.

 

But the appeal and the glamour was most definitely their oxygen tank.

 

They had their own reasons. Dean needed to put Sam through school; Charlie had a dying mother to pay for. A day job at the local store just wasn't gonna cut it – they decided that a long time ago, and in their innocence, made the mistake that eventually landed them in Havens Borough Correctional Center. 

 

But, from the start, they knew it’d be the road to no town – though, it seemed worth it.

 

They were young and full of the joys of springtime – confident about going it alone, ready to do what they thought they were meant too. And man, did they make a great team. Charlie was a genius when it came to the intricate things, and Dean could lay six guys flat with the simple turn of his fist. The older he got, the better he got. 

 

They were a dangerous act, unstoppable – it didn’t take long until they were on top; in charge of their own guys and girls. Kings in a world of peasants. 

 

Soon after, they were paired up with Gordon, a new recruit, ready to unleash some fury on the world – or _revenge_ as he’d keep calling it. Dean couldn’t figure out how robbing a couple of stores and properties had anything to do with avenging – but he guessed now that what Gordon was doing in the cover of darkness was getting all the satisfaction he’d ever need. 

 

Two more joined their group after that. First, one Garth Fitzgerald and then, very surprisingly, a boy named Kevin Tran. And that’s all he was – a boy. No older than thirteen. Maybe even younger, Dean wasn’t sure. But, hell, was that kid smart. 

 

Dean was always perplexed when it came to working out why the kid had anything to do with them. Why he’d stay up late with Charlie to piece together the inner workings and form their plan of going about things, while he, Garth and Gordon, sat around waiting for the call. 

 

But they all had their reasons, hadn’t they? 

 

It was his life and he _loved_ it. He _loved_ the thrill. The moment the police arrived and they’d run and yipped and laughed down the road, teasing them with gun shots, money weighing their arms down. 

 

He _loved_ the power. He _loved_ that people listened to him for a change. Trusted his judgement. Followed his leadership – fuck, what he wouldn’t give to have that kind of respect again. 

 

But, there he was; stuck in a building with a hundred other men that had lived a life just like him – or worse. 

 

He had to be honest with himself now. Whatever road he took, he was always going to end up there – whether Gordon sold him out or not.

 

It was the first place he’d ever really belonged. 

 

***

 

As it turned out, Sam wasn’t able to get his sentence reduced – not even by the six months – which was honestly a bit of a kick in the teeth. 

 

While the evidence had been good, more information had weighed in about him, and boosted his sentence back up to five years. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. 

 

But what was six months in five whole years? It didn’t really matter. Though, Sam failed to see it that way. 

 

Dean had stayed quiet when his little brother, all smiles and puppy dog eyes, had lost it in front of him – the guy had almost broken down over it all, which Dean really couldn’t understand. Dean had to take responsibility for his actions – and further, he couldn’t say he regretted his decisions.

 

_“But, Dean! It’s my fault-!”_

 

 _“Sammy, how the hell is it your fault?”_ Dean had almost laughed. 

 

_“You did this for me! All of it – if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be sitting here!”_

 

Really, he’d never seen it like that before and he could see why Sam might have felt that way but it was still _Dean’s_ choice. He’d lent forward and took his little brother’s arm with the most encouraging smile a big brother can only manage, in a way of trying to calm a brewing storm.

 

 _“I ever hear you say that again, I’m gonna put a bullet in your knees.”_ He’d strained a laugh, annoyed to see his brother so cut up. Dean had squeezed his arm, trying to loosen the clenched fist that had balled up a page in it’s Boa Constrictor kind of hold. _“Sending you to school was the best choice I ever made – what’s five years? You’re all I’ve got. As far as I’m concerned, you’re worth it.”_

 

He’d told Sam to get out after that on account of turning him into a sap – but, that didn’t make his words any less true. 

 

***

 

For a month, Dean had caught the late shift working in the laundry room, which he had to admit he didn’t mind – actually preferred it. 

 

He didn’t have to deal with Screws checking in every thirty minutes; or the drone of people running around in the corridors, dumping their laundry in on him like he was some kind of slave. 

 

It was quiet now. Not entirely silent – but a wonderful kind of quiet. 

 

The only company of noise was the rattle of the washer, the hum of the dryer and the flicker of the lights above him. In the dying light of the sun that came in through the small rectangular windows. He could finally shake the tension from his shoulders and take a breath and just _relax_.

 

That was the normal night. He’d wash, dry, fold the laundry and put them in their hampers to be sent out to the inmates. That was that, and he’d leave, grab a smoke and head to bed – job done. 

 

Except, recently, things hadn’t been going as well as they could have been.

 

At the end of a shift, or thereabouts, Dean had almost finished the grueling task of folding all of these tops and bottoms in a sort of dazed repetitive stance.

 

He wouldn’t have even glanced away, were it not for the sound of hushed voices in the emptying corridors, and then _nothing_.

 

Silence was never a good thing – not here. 

 

Dean stood straight and stuck his eyes on the door that was yawning open and closed ever so slightly. The hinges squealed suddenly and Dean was faced with a guy he’d had a run in with only a couple of months before. He let out a breath, bit of an unbelieving smile on his face like _“what have I done now?”_ and watched the now clear skinned man stride towards him, lips pulled tight into a smile. 

 

“Winchester.”

 

“Man, you’ve got a great memory.” Dean raised his eyebrows, glancing down at the clothes again to start folding, as if unconcerned. 

 

“I’ve been told.” Edgar said, leaning on the table, pressing so the legs wobbled under the pressure. Dean figured he’d better look up and get this over and done with or the guy’d never been told. 

 

“What do you want?” Any sign of a smile was now gone from Dean’s face. “I know you didn’t just come here to flirt with me.” 

 

“No, I came to see if you got my note.” 

 

“I’m starting to believe you’re making this whole ‘note’ situation up.” Dean said, brow furrowing. “Because, I have seen no hint of a note or a piece of paper since I got here.”

 

“Well, shall I indulge you by telling you what it said?” Edgar said, lifting his arms away to fold them over his chest. He didn’t wait for Dean to answer. “I asked you for compensation for bringing out my vulnerable skin-”

 

“Your vulnerable skin?” Dean actually laughed because _god damn_ this guy was obviously a head case. “Alright, how about this,” His chuckles trailed off as he ran a hand over his mouth as if in thought before his eyes landed back on the shorter man. “Go fuck yourself.” 

 

“I hoped you wouldn’t say that.” Edgar tisked and all in a second the collapsible table was screaming across the laminate floor. His fists reached for Dean’s shirt, though this time, he didn’t count on Dean being better prepared. 

 

The washer rattled with the sound of Edgar’s head cracking off it. Dean held him there by the scruff of his collar, knuckles whitening in their firm grip. 

 

“No more, alright?” Dean said through his teeth, forcing Edgar’s eyes on his. “No more fucking notes,” He slammed Edgar again to stop him from struggling, taking a breath through his nose as he watched the slightest still of terror crawl onto Edgar’s tan face “no more of this. Understand?” 

 

“Let me go-”

 

“Not until you answer me.” Dean pressed, wanting more than anything to knock the light out of his eyes, though a week in Solitary steadied his fist that ached to rocket forward. 

 

Edgar spat, smile curled on his lips. “Stupid bastard.” Dean watched, tightening his grip ever so slightly. “ _Stupid fucking bastard._ ”

 

Dean didn’t entirely understand what he’d meant by that until the door swung shut behind them.

 

***

 

Though it had been six months, the reality was really starting to sink in – six months was a hell of a long time. Especially in here.

 

He felt like he was aging, missing everything that was going on outside the high gates around the yard and the field. God knew, by the time he got out, things could have changed by a whole generation. 

 

Five years was a long time – whatever way you looked at it. 

 

But, if you’d asked him what he’d spent the past six months doing, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. 

 

He just took the days as they came – did his job, spent a couple of hours in rec, smoked with Benny, got yelled at by C.O.s, went to counselling, had his visitors…Repetitive stuff. 

 

And there was still four years six months to go. 

 

It was enough to put him away in the head, but hell if he’d let it. It was just another place he didn’t particularly like. Some of the boys’ homes he’d been in were worse than this – or, at least, they'd felt like it at the time. 

 

This had all been running through his mind while he was on his way to the yard for rec time after work – running his hand along the cool wall as he went. It was roasting. He felt like he was being slowly cooked alive in this grey uniform. Though, thankfully, the pullover and sweats had been swapped for grey scrubs due to the humid summer weather. 

 

It really did feel like a hospital in here now – though, he’d rather die than have any of these guys nurse him back to health. 

 

He ran the back of his arm across his forehead, watching his boots as he walked before a movement up ahead brought his attention up. He stopped, seeing someone halt at the end of the hall. His back was facing Dean, arms casually behind his back. _bad sign_.

 

Dean glanced over his shoulder, seeing a couple of guys there, like they’d just sprouted out of the ground. 

 

“Hey, fellas.” Dean said, turning to face them. “Somethin’ I can do for ya?” 

 

“Crowley wants to see you.” One of them said. 

 

“Who?”

 

“If you think I’m gonna repeat myself for you, Winchester, you’re sorely mistaken.” 

 

“Well, I’m sorry. You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.” Dean crossed his arms. “I don’t want to end up with a dick in my ass, y’know?” 

 

“We’re not gonna ask you again.”

 

“Just tell me what he wants me for. I don’t owe the guy nothin’.” 

 

A look was exchanged between the two men before one of them whistled loudly. Dean’s eyes widened as he was suddenly yanked forward. The man at the end of the corridor was gone. He was going to see Crowley whether he liked it or not it seemed. 

 

He didn’t know the guy personally – just that he had a lot of people willing to do his bidding and for what reason he wasn’t really sure. 

 

But what he wanted to see Dean for was a mystery and a half. 

 

Dean pulled his arms out of their grasp when they stopped in front of the small man at something of a picnic table, shuffling a deck of cards, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, as unconcerned as you’d like.

 

Crowley’s guys were gone as soon as they’d arrived and Dean had to take a second to wonder if there was some kind of secret underground tunnel system they used to get around – these guys just came from _nowhere_. 

 

“Winchester, wasn’t it?” The smaller man said, grinning up at him around the cigarette like a rabbit chewing a carrot – and a rather well kept looking rabbit at that. “Crowley.” 

 

“Right, I know.” Dean smiled wryly, feeling his neck starting to burn under the sun already. “Look, man, you like your silks hand washed or somethin’?” Honestly, he just wanted to go sit in the shade and maybe shut his eyes for ten minutes and get a bit of peace. “Cause, I’m not sure what else you’d want me for.” 

 

Crowley laughed, taking the smoke out of his mouth to tap out the ash. “No, this has nothing to do with my laundry.” 

 

“Alright, then what?” 

 

“Sit down.” 

 

Dean looked at the empty seat in front of Crowley like this was his office or something – God, the guy really did think he ran this place, didn’t he? _Whatever._ The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get to laying down on the cool grass and maybe getting some shut eye for ten minutes. So, Dean humoured him and sat down, leaning on his forearms. 

 

“I couldn’t help but notice,” Crowley started, beginning to dole out the cards “you had a bit of a situation on your hands.” 

 

Dean pursed his lips and watched Crowley deal the cards out. Yeah, so what if he did? 

 

It’d been a while since Edgar had rounded on him in the laundry room – Dean was past caring about it though because he’d learned soon enough that little Edgar was part of a much bigger gang of guys that’d put him in the infirmary for almost a month. 

 

Roman’s guys.

 

The damage had been done and now Dean was about to be at the brunt of their wrath. 

 

He swore this place was more like fair Verona than an actual prison. 

 

Anyway, that’d soon pass. Like all bullies, they’d get bored of him and move onto the next new guy that came around. He knew that all too well by now. 

 

And for the moment, they hadn’t bothered him all that much. Not since the last time – though Dean figured the inevitable storm was coming. They were just letting the winds die down around the Screws before they threw a hurricane his way. 

 

“So?” Dean said when Crowley had remained silent for a long while.

 

“ _So,_ I’d like to offer you,” He looked like he was mulling over the right word to use “protection.” 

 

“Oh, no-”

 

“Oh, yes.” Crowley leaned in, letting the cigarette rest between his fingers, blowing the smoke of the side of his mouth. “You need it.”

 

“Listen, Crowley-”

 

“Dean, isn’t it? Right. Let me make this clear to you.” He reached forward suddenly, putting the smoke out on Dean’s arm, holding him down by his wrist, lightly freckled skin turning red and black and sore in less than ten seconds. 

 

Dean hissed and grabbed Crowley’s collar tight with his free hand, ready to tear into him - and just like that, two sets of hands landed him on his back on the hard, warm, tarmac.

 

He groaned, winded, shielding his eyes from the blaring sun, as Crowley’s figure blocked it out completely. “See? Protection gets you an awful long way.”

 

“You had to put a fucking hole in my arm to prove that? Son of a bitch!” Dean exclaimed, examining the prickling heat on his arm that was still alive with nerves. It was sizzling painfully, already starting to blister around the edges.

 

“Well, you weren’t listening otherwise.” Crowley droned, voice starting to drive Dean insane. 

 

Though, they pulled him to his feet again, and sat him down at the table in front of Crowley, shoving his cards back into his hands before the cleared the area again. How did the Screws not see any of this? Maybe they just chose not too. 

 

Dean was a little bit too overwhelmed to attempt to work out these cards but he swallowed and focused on them instead of the burn that was seeping into his muscles. 

 

“So, here’s my proposition.” Crowley said, laying his cards flat on the table with a grin. “Flush.” 

 

“Huh?” Dean squinted. Crowley puffed, shaking his head.

 

“Can’t you multitask? Ape.” 

 

“Hey, hey, wait a second.” Dean said, setting his cards down, pushing his hair back with one hand, tried and sore and frustrated. All he wanted was his afternoon on the grass. “Are we playing poker or are you making me a deal here?”

 

“Both.” Crowley looked like it was obvious, pulling Dean’s cards forward to peer at them. Dean didn’t care. “Oh, Three of a Kind.” He pushed a cigarette in Dean’s direction before taking the cards to shuffle them again. “You win because-”

 

“I know how to play poker!” Dean’s face was just a model for confusion. 

 

“ _Could have fooled me_. Anyway, make it worth my while, Mr Winchester, and I’ll save you from big bad Dick.” Crowley’s cheeks pinched with a grin before he cleared his throat with a rough sounding cough. “That or wait until he gets bored – And let me tell you, that cat always gets the mouse between his teeth in the end…Think about it.” 

 

With that food for thought, Dean stood to take his leave without another sound, heading out towards the field to do what he’d planned on originally. Prison was a weird place – but once he lay down and shut his eyes, he figured he’d work all this shit out.

 

Maybe protection was the way forward, but how the hell was he supposed to make it worth the guys while? What did Dean have that Crowley didn’t?

 

***

 

After a morning of playing cards in the rec room with an ever growing pile of cigarettes to his right, Benny sauntered in with his hands in his pockets, shit eating grin plastered on his face.

 

“What’re you smilin’ at?” Dean glanced up from his cards, poker face still in motion.

 

“Guess who’s been good enough to come out an’ meet the Bolts.”

 

“What the fuck’s a Bolt?” Dean set his cards down, stood and lifted his cigarettes, silently declaring he was done playing. The other men grumbled but continued on without much more sound – it wasn’t much of a game anyway.

 

“The Psych boys.” Benny shrugged. Dean still didn’t get it, so Benny rolled his eyes and motioned for him to follow. “Every month they let the good Bolts out to meet the good regular inmates. Supposed ta be good for reintroducin’ them into normality again or somethin’, I dunno.” Benny trundled on, clearing his deep voice of thickness, twisting his cap. "All I know is they get the good shit in there, let me tell ya." 

 

“Alright,” Dean followed anyway “so why am I going?”

 

“I dunno, Milton just told me to go get ya.”

 

Dean didn’t dispute anymore and followed Benny to a room he’d never been in before, though he’d passed it a couple of times on his way to meetings with Sam. 

 

Wacky-Zachy was by the door, sick grin slick on his lips, looking them over like he had something sour in his mouth. Nonetheless, he granted them access. 

 

Dean could only describe the room as something like a day-time nursery for kids. There were bright colours and padding on the walls in the shapes of jigsaw puzzles. There was a TV which was considerably better and bigger than the one they had in their rec room – Benny gave him a wriggle of the eyebrows before moving towards it and suddenly Dean understood why these ‘Bolts’ getting let out (sort off) was a good thing. 

 

So, Dean placed his fist in his free hand casually and strolled around, distinguishing the Bolts from the other inmates. The Bolts wore blue scrubs, as opposed to their grey, and tended to stick together in small groups as a means of being more comfortable. 

 

Two sat at a table with a book between them, seemingly laughing at the pictures inside. Not just chuckling, but hysterical kind of laughter. Dean cringed a bit and decided to steer clear of them. 

 

One had his back to him, though he had a messy mop of black hair on top of his head, and he seemed to be scanning over the books neatly packed onto the shelves. Apart from that, Dean was stricken by the narrowness in his shoulders, the way they kind of hunched forward as though he was carrying something heavy on his back.

 

The last one Dean noticed caught his eye for the longest. He was just sitting by the window with this quizzical look on his face, bottom lip jutting over his top in a stance of boredom _or something_. Dean really couldn’t put his finger on it, but the guy was just radiating this vibe that made Dean’s skin crawl. 

 

He went to sit beside Benny, figuring he wasn’t going to attempt speaking to them anyway, they were crazy for Christ’s sakes - until the tap of fingers hitting his shoulder made him flinch and turn around.

 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Dean stared, mouth parted a bit, partly from recovering from the twinge in his heart, and partly because of the intensity of these two blue eyes that landed on his like evening sunshine in the laundry room. “I was wondering could you reach the top shelf, I’m a couple of inches off.” 

 

Dean took a second before he realised the man was waiting for a response, so he breathed and nodded, scratching where he’d been tapped as though the touch still lingered. “Which one?” 

 

“Um, it’s called _Blue Horizons._ ” He followed, fingers lacing together. 

 

Dean had to stand on his tiptoes, but he managed to get the book off the shelf and handed it to the guy with a half smile. “There.”

 

“Thank you.” He took the book and held it, though he still watched- still stared at Dean with no intent on letting the gaze falter with a contented kind of smile on his face. Dean blinked, glancing away for a second, expecting the gaze to have broken - but no, his eyes were still pinned to Dean's.

 

“Cassie! Stop staring, you’re freaking him out!” One of the men from the table shouted, his bony cheeks looking like they were about to crack from all the pressure of laughing so hard. 

 

Dean stayed quiet, but watched as the other’s mouth fell, followed by his gaze, holding the book tight in his hand. “Sorry, I’m sorry-”

 

“It’s alright, man. No harm done.” Dean huffed a laugh to lighten to mood, though his chest was hit with a wave of pity. The look of shame in those eyes was too real – it was like watching a dog being kicked repeatedly. The others chuckles sounded as clear as a bell behind him, even though they were being quiet, but the look on this guys face just wouldn't keep Dean quiet. “Hey, don’t listen to those guys-”

 

“No, I should know better than to stare – they’re right. I’m very sorry. Thank you for getting my book.” 

 

“It’s no problem.” Dean assured him before the other went and sat on a seat next to the fair haired man near the window, opening the book at the first page. He seemed accustomed to this, so Dean let him be. His gaze travelled back to the table where he found the two men looking at him, beckoning him forward with a slender finger. 

 

So, he went forward, feeling a little riled at them - _Why was he riled at them?_ He shouldn't have been, but yet here he was with rigid shoulders and a firm jaw. He stopped just short of them and put his hands in his pockets, face hard. “Yeah?”

 

“Oh, Alastair, ‘yeah’, he says.” 

 

“I heard,” Alastair leaned back in his chair. “Shouldn’t you be a little more grateful?”

 

“I’m not following you here.” Dean’s face screwed up. “Why should I be grateful?” 

 

“We practically saved your life.” 

 

“Right.” Dean nodded, getting back to his original ‘these people are literally crazy’ thoughts. He shouldn't have been getting aggravated by them - he shouldn't be talking to them. No one else seemed to. “I’m gonna go watch TV.” 

 

“That’s Castiel.” The other one said. “Cas. Our Cassie.” He chuckled, having to stop himself from going into full hysterics again. He reminded Dean of a hyena - he had the yellowish glint to his eyes and everything. 

 

“Azazel.” Alastair said in that low, supposed to be calming sort of voice, though it made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand on end; the laziness of his eyes flitting around the room until they stuck on Dean and stayed there like a moth to a flame - and not in the way that Castiel's had. Dean was under a heavy rock that was cutting off his air supply with this stare. “He’s new. He doesn’t know.”

 

“He’s bad.” Azazel’s eyes widened before he covered his mouth with another want of a laugh. “Bad, bad, son of a bitch.”

 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed buddy, but we’re in a prison.” Dean said, patience wearing thin with these two - nerves bouncing around inside him. He should have just ignored them from the start. “There’s a lot of bad guys in here.” 

 

Azazel and Alastair shared another snicker between themselves before bony Alastair put a hand and nodded. “If you can’t take this seriously, then we won’t tell you.”

 

“I don’t particularly want to know – besides, you called me over here!” Dean threw up his hands in defeat because, damn it, you just can’t reason with crazy. “Look, whatever, alright. Thanks for the insight.” He smiled and turned to leave, finally going to sit next to Benny, who was completely oblivious to the occurrings that were going on around him. 

Thank God for simple, unknowing Benny.

 

Dean sat down, letting out a breath, shaking his head, eyes settling on the TV – but damned if they would settle for more than five minutes. He gave in and let them wonder to that guy – Castiel – nose still stuck in his book. 

 

He noticed now how much the blue actually suited him – scrubs or not. And honestly, he seemed happy enough in his own little world of _Blue Horizons_ , smiling away to himself without so much as a care. 

 

Dean almost hadn’t noticed him looking back until the other blinked a couple of times. Dean smiled and turned to face the TV again. 

 

What a strange thing place. 

 

With strange people roaming around the long halls. 

 

Where everyday brought around the same endless, boring tasks.

 

Where he was in trouble with one gang, and sought out by another.

 

And in one day, out of all those six months;

 

Dean had found the thing to keep him going. 

 

The one thing he'd be sure to remember;

 

Those Blue Horizons.


	3. Good Behavior

_Four Years to go_

 

Christmas time marked both a beginning and an ending in Dean’s life. 

 

A beginning in a whole new world of confinement and rules and people he generally didn’t like, bar a few. 

 

The ending being the termination of his freedom – though, having said that, Dean had never felt more at home here. 

 

There was a bed every night. There was food (albeit bad food) but it was hot and filling. He had a job. He could relax. He could see Sammy, call Bobby on a Sunday…Really, it could have been a lot worse. 

 

What Dean didn’t account for were the gangs, and the many that partook within them.

 

It took him an entire year to figure out who was giving orders and who was taking them. 

 

Roman, who had all these guys running around doing his bidding, was one of men calling the shots. He was a snarky man with a power hungry sort of smile that made Dean’s hairs stand on end. Though Dean had never spoken to him personally – he’d barely even seen him around this place – just his very presence made him want to run eight miles without stopping. Dean wondered what exactly he had done on the outside to make him radiate such a bad vibe. 

 

The other was Crowley. A Scot with an English accent. Dean wondered if he just put it on but then he realized he didn’t care. Crowley was alright, strictly speaking. He was certainly more approachable – but not any less threatening. 

 

Benny had told him since coming to the prison seven years ago, fourteen people had died, each of which had done something to piss the little guy off. 

 

And naturally, the two big bosses of Havens Borough, hated each other with a burning passion. It was all about numbers in the end – and for what? They were in prison. It wasn’t like they could do anything anyway. Dean didn’t really get it, but he figured everyone needs a hobby.

 

Edgar, the bane of Dean’s life, happened to be one of Roman’s guys. The reason he’d been landed in the infirmary. The reason he was constantly lit upon in the laundry room. The reason he felt like committing a murder – he could see now why people did that sort of thing because give him any sharp object and he’d stick it right in Edgar’s twiggy little throat. 

 

But, given his rota and the times he was at the wash room, he was able to stay just under the radar and out of view. He didn't normally see anyone he didn't want to - so, really, he shouldn't complain. It could be much worse.

 

Though, for a whole year Edgar had whined about a couple of notes – Dean never found a single one. By now, he figured it was just Edgar’s kick-starter to get into – or back into - some torture. 

 

Now it was Christmas, and dinner was actually something to enjoy, and everyone was getting on for a while and things were plain sailing. They even exchanged gifts (which Dean thought was kinda corny) but that didn’t stop him from bedazzling Benny’s mp3 player.

 

“Happy Christmas.”

 

“This already belonged to me.” Benny said, holding his cigarette in one hand, mp3 player in the other. 

 

The snow had just been unstoppable but that didn’t put them off their smoke out the back of the kitchen, where the security camera had a couple of ‘missing’ wires. 

 

Dean didn’t smoke, or at least, he hadn’t until he went to prison. It was just something he did to pass the time. Stand outside for a while. Feel something warm from the inside. 

 

“Yeah, but it’s new and improved.” Dean stuck one hand in the pocket of the heavy pull overcoat that had his inmate number ironed on to the right side of his chest. 

 

“I can see that.” Benny huffed a laugh, smoke bellowing out of his mouth as he coughed. “Thanks.” 

 

“No problem.” Dean said dryly, tapping the ash off his cigarette onto the white snow, turning it grey. “I hope my present is equally as good.” 

 

“Yeah, managed to get ya a piece of pie for dessert.” Benny side eyed him, taking another drag. Dean beamed and looked up at the sky as though the heavens had opened up and God had finally decided to give this guy a break.

 

“Now that’s a great present.”

 

“You’re welcome, brother.” 

 

True to his word, Benny did manage to get him a piece of apple pie for dessert, while the others had trifle and Christmas cake and all sorts. Dean was very happy – it was the first Christmas to ever put a smile on his face. 

 

Later that night, when they were back in their bunk, both sitting on Dean’s bed with their backs to the wall, sharing the head phones to Benny’s now very brightly coloured mp3 player, Benny had turned and asked him a question he hadn’t been asked once since arriving here – except maybe once when he was being admitted. 

 

Benny was a very good friend by now, a friend for life, Dean was certain, but even so, Dean was a little taken aback by the nature of it. 

 

“You got anyone waitin’ on you back home?”

 

“Like who? A partner?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Oh. Hmm.” Benny huffed a laugh, settling himself back against the wall, eyes drooping shut. “I figured.”

 

“Dude…” Dean still watched him, giving his shoulder a bit of a nudge. “Don’t get all inquisitive on me then pass out – course I ain’t got anyone waitin’ on me.” He answered, chuckling a bit in confusion. “Think they’d wanna wait this long anyway?”

 

“You never know what _they’d_ do.” A sly smile crept onto Benny’s lips and that was it for Dean.

 

“Alright, Colombo,” Dean said, taking the earphone out now, truly bewildered and frankly a little bit annoyed. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Well…Bein’ in here makes you very observant.” Benny shrugged, opening his eyes again, sparing him a glance before he looked down at the music player to switch songs. “It’s been a year, sunshine, don’t think I’m stupid.”

 

Dean stayed quiet, mouth widening a bit, before he sat back with a puff putting the earphone back in. 

 

“Don’t get all sulky, brother-”

 

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.” Dean mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, a little miffed that someone had worked him out – maybe. It depended what Benny meant by that. 

 

“Yeah, you do.” Benny laughed. “What straight guy in here says partner?”

 

After that, Dean found himself biting back a laugh. He glanced at his friend, rubbing his forehead, a little embarrassed. Though, he didn’t worry. Benny was about the only person he trusted other than himself in here. 

 

And if anything, it was just another weight lifted off his already heavy shoulders.

 

“I like girls too, y’know.”

 

“You can like whatever ya want, man, I’ve been in here too long to care.” 

 

*

Benny’s pie wasn’t the only present Dean received this year. On Visitors’ Day, He had a call during rec time to say that someone was here to see him. He didn’t generally get visitors. It was too far of a drive for Sam to come up every weekend, and Bobby was three states over. 

 

When he walked in, there were three people crowded around a table, wearing nice clothes and even nicer smiles. He made his way over quickly, already putting his arms out to have Bobby get up and hug him tightly, clapping his back hard.

 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Bobby said cheerfully, pulling away, though still holding his arms. “How’re you doin’, boy? You aren’t anyone’s bitch yet, are you?” 

 

“No, Bobby, not yet.” Dean said, still laughing, squeezing Sam’s shoulder as he made his way towards Jess who was standing just behind his brother, holding onto his hand for grim death it seemed. 

 

“Look at you! She just gets better looking, doesn’t she?” Dean said, passing Sam to almost tackle her into a hug, making her have to wrap her arms tight around his neck. Though she laughed and it sounded like bells. Dean thought that something that sounded and looked so pretty should not be anywhere near this place. 

 

“Leave some room for Jesus, Winchester.” A voice sounded from the back and Dean let her go, going to take his seat across as they all sat down. 

 

“Merry Christmas, eh?” Dean said, raising his eyebrows a bit, looking between the three of them that were still all smiles and happy things. 

 

And then, just like that, Dean realised just how awkward this was. The three of them sitting there, staring at him, waiting for him to talk. That or they were too scared too; intimidated by the barred windows and the heavy locks on the doors. It was a frightening place to on looking outsiders, Dean had to be honest. 

 

Jess’s chair couldn’t physically get any closer to Sam’s, and on second look, her knuckles were actually white and trembling. Dean looked at her, concerned as to why she wasn’t being herself. 

 

“Jess,” He said, huffing a bit of a laugh, glancing at Sam. “What’s wrong?” 

 

She looked up for a second before her gaze hit the table again. “Nothing.” Jess whispered, almost angrily. 

 

“C’mon, it’s gotta be something. Where’s our cheeky golden girl, huh? I really missed that.” 

 

And just like that, the tears were flooding out of Jess’s eyes like a steady river heading downstream. 

 

It wasn’t a silent cry either. She wailed, and covered her face with one hand and dug in her bag for a tissue in the other, all while cursing herself. Sam put an arm around to console her, speaking softly as if to settle her but she pulled out of his grip to keep searching her bag with loud frustrated sounding noises.

 

Dean was wide eyed in shock, feeling a little worried. _Was she scared of him?_ \- but this wasn’t fear, no, this was fury.

 

“Jess-” Dean breathed, looking between her, and Sam and Bobby, seriously hoping that wasn’t the case. 

 

“Look at _you_!” She forced out through barred teeth, dabbing her eyes when she finally found some tissue. “Christ, I knew this would be hard, but look at you!” Her breath hitched, making her sob again.

 

“Jess, c’mon, it’s alright.” Sam said, rubbing her shoulder softly, throwing in a little chuckle to try and cheer her up - lighten the mood. 

 

Dean looked down at himself, feeling his chest a little consciously, looking at Bobby as if to say ‘ _What’s wrong with me?_ ’ 

 

Bobby waved it off and shook his head, since Jess looked just about ready to get a full sentence out without people turning to look at her. 

 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” She sniffed, folding her tissue over to wipe her eyes again, Sam’s other hand on her knee now. “This is just very difficult.”

 

“What is?” Dean pressed, still feeling like he’d done something horrible. 

 

“You…Just- _God_.” Jess said quietly, reaching to hold Sam’s hand now, looking to the ceiling for a moment to collect herself before her eyes met his once more. “We miss you terribly, Dean…This-this is just too surreal.” She breathed, still a little shaky on it. “You’re _happy_ here.” 

 

Dean let his mouth shut, pursing his lips a bit before he managed a smile, just glad that was the reason and not anything else – glad she wasn’t scared of him or something. “Hey, yeah I mean…It’s not terrible.” He grinned, but if anything, it sent Jess into another flood of tears, head falling into her hands again.

 

Sam shot him a look, shaking his head, while he pulled her against his chest. 

 

“What? You want me to say it _is_ terrible?” Dean’s face screwed up in confusion. “I don’t get it!”

 

“She’s been real emotional lately.” Bobby leant over, speaking lowly. “…And to be honest, we all expected you’d be getting out much sooner.” There was a definite hint of knowing there. Dean was the one giving Sam looks now. 

 

“Jess just had it in her head that if you hated this place enough, you’d talk – alright, baby, c’mon, don’t get upset.” Sam said, dismissing Dean's hard look, pushing Jess’s hair away from her face, letting her settle against his shoulder. “But I guess at this rate we have better chance of pigs flying. You’re fine here – you belong.” His brother smiled wryly, but given that it was Christmas, Dean decided not to argue and let it sail right over his head. Now was not the time to fight with Sam about his case nor personal moral standing. 

 

“Hey, c’mon, can we just have a nice Christmas get together like a normal family?” Dean exclaimed, reaching over for Jess’s hand when she finally pulled away from Sam again. “Listen, Jess darlin’, it’s going to fly in – whether I’m happy here or not shouldn’t matter. I’ve got time to serve so I’ve gotta do it. May as well be content enough about it than break my heart in here every day and God knows I’m close enough to doing that sometimes.” Dean kept his eyes on hers, squeezing her hand a bit. “You’re gonna keep looking after Gigantor there until I’m out, cause I need you to do it. You’re the only one that can.” He half smiled when she nodded, letting out a bit of a wince as she did. “Figure I better get on with this and enjoy the free food while I can.” He sighed, almost dreamily, making her roll her eyes as though he was saying her benefit. “So, don’t cry anymore, alright? Don’t make me miss you more than I already do – all three of you – ‘cause no one makes me happier.” 

 

“Get a load of Mr Sensitive here.” Sam said, leaning back in his chair with a laugh that cracked around the edges, carding a hand through his long hair. It was easy to tell from where Dean was sitting, that his little brother had needed to hear that too, so he smirked.

 

“Shut up, Sammy, and take the compliment.” 

 

*

 

It was during an afternoon out in the laundry room that Dean’s attention was drawn back to the now faint little burn mark on his arm. He scratched it faintly, thinking back to his meeting with Crowley about protection.

 

Edgar was still the same. Mostly he came in now just to torment him when their schedules matched up, knowing he could do nothing about it. Dean was in a sticky situation.

 

The week after Christmas, when all had gone back to how it normally was, and the place didn’t look like a fairy threw up on it, Dean was back to work. 

 

It was one of those feelings were he just knew something was up – that something was going to happen. A knot in his stomach. The hunch had been right – unfortunately. 

 

He hadn’t heard them come in, but he had felt the sharp pain in his shoulder when one of them slammed him against one of the washing machines. He groaned, head lolling back mostly because he didn’t want to have to deal with this tonight. 

 

But, already, it was different. They were forcing him to the ground with less than careful motions – onto his knees. Sirens were sounding when he saw two of them standing outside the door to keep watch, and they started to blare when Edgar sauntered towards him with a twisted smile on his thin lips. 

 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Dean almost whispered in disbelief, struggling now against their hold, desperately trying to get away. His eyes darted downwards and upwards again. “You’re _fucking_ kidding me!” He almost screamed, knees beginning to tremble from the weight being pressed down on his shoulders.

 

He’d read into the situation faster than it had unfolded because he’d seen this happen before. He’d seen people disappear into closets. He’d seen confident men silenced in a day.

 

“Would it make you feel better if I said yes-”

 

“Not fucking really!” Dean exclaimed now, swallowing thickly. “Listen, man, listen, don’t do this to me…I-I’ll do anything, I’ll get you something else-” The first time he had ever resorted to begging, in a long time. Since he was a kid, if he remembered correctly. It wasn’t a good feeling, but there was nothing else he could do. 

 

Edgar pouted, shrugging, playing with the waist band of his pants.

 

“You’re fucking crazy – god damn crazy son of a bitch.” Dean hissed, never giving up on his attempt to get away. Nothing he said was slowing Edgar down. This was going to happen.

 

Edgar pulled Dean’s jaw forward forcefully, making him whimper uncomfortably, swearing under his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to God, this was one of those awful dreams where he’d wake up in a cold sweat and heart palpations. 

 

“Open your mouth, sweet heart.” Edgar said patronizingly, running a free hand over Dean’s hair, grasping the shorter ones at the back of his neck. “We heard a little rumour about you, gayboy.” 

 

At that Dean’s face drained of colour. He blinked in shock - _how the hell did Edgar know that?_

 

“Get the fuck away from me – who told you that?” Dean spat, hoping he'd be able to stall. He turned his face away, trying to calm his breathing, before a whack to the back of his head made him feel like his brain was going to fall out of his mouth. 

 

“Does it matter? Hey-” Edgar said, moving himself closer so his pelvis was almost touching Dean’s face. Dean turned his head again before Edgar forced it back around, grasping his cheeks hard between his thumb and finger. “Hey. You look at me when I’m talking to you, baby – don’t you like this?” He pouted. Dean swallowed, jaw clenching, thinking about how they’d have to kill him first before he opened his mouth. 

 

Edgar didn’t wait for an answer, instead he tugged his waistband down, making Dean clamp his lips together and fight with all his strength one last time to try and get away. 

 

But, on this occasion, Dean was actually saved by sleepy Brooklyn in the corner, who slept through the loudest spin cycle on the washers, who never stirred for anything other than meal times, opened his eyes and screamed like a banshee at what was about to take place before him. 

 

Dean fell forward when the hands suddenly lifted from his shoulders and the three of them bolted from the wash room. He sucked in air like he’d been holding his breath, opening his eyes again, arms shaking as he held himself up.

 

“Brooklyn,” He breathed heavily, looking over at him. “Brooklyn, you crazy old bastard.” A laugh actually escaped his lips, albeit an exasperated laugh. “You just saved me from a life time of therapy.”

 

Brooklyn looked at him, still absolutely horrified. He’d pushed himself in against the wall, holding a hand to his chest as he took deep breaths along with Dean. 

 

“W-why did they – what was that?” Brooklyn shook, white as a ghost.

 

Dean got back to his feet uneasily, shaking the feeling off his shoulders, recollecting himself as he rubbed a hand over his face, skin still crawling with something that felt like insects scaling his arms and back.

 

But he didn’t have time to answer, Wacky Zachy had flung open the door with his face of stone, looking like he was about to murder someone. 

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

“Nothing – Brooklyn just had a bad dream.” Dean swallowed, unaware how much his voice was trembling, hoping he didn’t look as pale as he felt. He turned, hands still shaking violently, back to the unfolded laundry. 

 

“Well keep it down.” Officer Zachy said, slamming the door behind them again, making the window rattle on impact. Dean flinched. 

 

“Why didn’t you tell him?!”

 

“Because Brooklyn,” Dean took a breath, shoulders hunching. “That’d only make it worse.”

 

When Dean walked hurriedly back to the dormitory for the night, both as quietly and cautiously as he could, his heart thudded with a feeling of betrayal. 

 

Would Benny really have given up his trust like that? Somehow he couldn’t believe it. But, man, did it hurt to think he would. 

 

Benny was already back and in bed when Dean made it back, deep into one of those crappy crossword books the O.C’s gave out when the inmates complained of boredom. Dean didn’t beat around the bush.

 

“Did you tell anyone about me?”

 

“What?” Benny looked up from the book for a second, setting it down. 

 

“Just answer me, Benny, did you tell anyone about me.”

 

“What about you?” Benny shook his head, brow furrowed, before he took in a breath of realization, face turning angry now. He spoke quietly. “That you’re bi? Dean, fuck, no, that ain’t my business-”

 

“Well, Edgar seemed to know.” Dean exclaimed, hands flailing. 

 

“Edgar?” Benny still looked as confused as ever, though he automatically looked Dean over. It struck a memory in Dean's mind - how he'd look Sam over like that after he'd got in a fight, readying himself to break someone jaw. “What happened?” Benny growled, affronted.

 

“It’s a long story.” Dean sighed, coming to sit on his bed, running a hand over his slightly damp forehead. “Christ, Benny-”

 

“Yeah, brother, this is bad.” Benny sat up, facing him, concern very genuine on his face. “I never told a soul, Dean, you know I wouldn’.”

 

Dean nodded, clasping his hands together. “Someone must have overheard.”

 

“You’ll be in shitsville if they did.”

 

“I’m already there.”

 

*

 

This month, his first full year at the detention centre, called for another meeting with his Councillor Anna Milton. 

 

Dean was happy enough to get the morning off work – and away from any sign of Edgar who hadn’t visited him in coming up to two weeks (which could be a good or a bad thing) – to go and speak with her.

 

As usual, Officer Milton was all gumdrops and sparkly things, talking about her Christmas that she’d spent with family and a doting boyfriend and how Christmas dinner had been just wonderful – before she caught her tongue and laughed nervously. Dean just smiled. 

 

“So, I suppose you know why you’re here.” 

 

“First year review?”

 

“Yes.” Anna said, pulling out the top draw in her desk to take out Dean’s file. She flicked through, landing on a blank page before she took a pen to it and began scribbling words Dean couldn’t make out. “So, as far as things go, Dean, you’ve been relatively well behaved this year. You’re good at your job, you’re well liked amongst the other C.O.’s, you’ve earned a visit to the inmates of the psychiatric ward – you had a little blip in April where you were placed in the infirmary for a little short of four weeks. What happened there?”

 

“Had a little accident with one of the guys – um, inmates – but it’s resolved.” He lied with a nod, reminding himself that squealing only made things horrendously worse.

 

“Alright, and they were presumably placed within Solitary Confinement, correct?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

 

“Okay.” Officer Milton continued writing, catching her breath to go on. “Over all, you’re fine, though? Have any concerns at all?”

 

“None.” 

 

“You’re quite easily contented, Dean, I know I’ve said that before.”

 

“Ain’t denyin’ it. Guess I’m just getting on with it.”

 

“That’s a good attitude.” She smiled, tucking red hairs behind her ears. “Anyway, you’re all cleared up again for another six months.” The file was closed and placed back in its designated spot. 

This place was just too well kept – too pristine. It was weird. Coming from the outside, where the halls were littered with men and bad smells and a terrible dull environment, where everyone moved and sounded like zombies. It was like coming home to your mother’s house when stepping into Officer Milton’s office. Everything tidy and in its place. Potted plants on the window. One of those air fresheners that shot you with scented mist ever time you got relatively close. 

 

Maybe that’s why it felt weird - Dean didn’t know how it felt to come home to your mother’s house after a long time being away, caring for yourself - though he could imagine. He’d seen enough TV for that.

 

He breathed a sigh of relief and went to stand, but Officer Milton didn’t seem finished. “I never asked – how was your day with the psychiatric inmates?”

 

“Good – yeah.” Dean shrugged, surprised she remembered, putting his hands in his pockets. “Interesting.” His memory triggered a strange feeling in his gut. He remembered a Castiel, reaching for a book on the top shelf. He remembered the way his shirt lifted up and skimmed part of his midriff. He stifled a laugh to himself, putting a hand on the door again. 

 

“Well, there’s another set up today. I’d like you to go as reward for good behavior…And if you continue, then we’ll make this a monthly thing for you. I know Mr Laffite has mentioned he enjoyed your company there.”

 

“Sure, I’ll stop by.”

 

“You’re a good sport, Dean. Thanks for making my life easy.” She wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “That’ll get you in.”

 

“You got it. Thanks.” Dean winked, pulling the door open, an excited little spark igniting under his skin. 

 

By no stretch had he forgotten about Castiel and his nice clear skin and eyes like two swimming pools, he’d simply held onto his memory for different occasions; like when he was outside having a smoke, or watching the snow fall on the lawn from the window in the library. When he was watching TV in the rec room, or before he went to bed at night. His memory of Castiel was used up when he was feeling content. Sadness and misery should not be associated with something so pure.

 

And yet, the irony in that was astounding. Castiel couldn’t be pure – he was in prison for a reason. Psychiatric prison.

 

Dean wondered why he was so drawn in. The glow off Castiel had been enticing and magnetic. The type of attraction Dean hadn’t felt in so long – and _damn_ did it feel good to dive back into the game of picking up the best ones out there.

 

Though, he wondered would it be morally right – he reiterated the fact that Castiel was a Bolt – a psychiatric inmate. The guy wasn’t mentally stable. Or maybe he was? God knew, they were letting him mingle with the regulars. He couldn't be that far gone. 

 

Nonetheless, he sauntered to the Day Care looking room with a bit of a spring in his step, and a definite smile on his face, swinging around the corner quickly when he’d caught sight of Edgar once. 

 

No one knew about his almost mental fuck up except Brooklyn – and he planned to keep it that way. 

 

He was stopped at the door by one of the Screws that looked like he wasn’t getting paid enough for this bullshit, though he placed Officer Milton’s note in his hand, and was granted access. Easy as that.

 

Dean remembered the days when he’d had power like that. When people needed his say so for a go ahead – oh, how the tables had turned. 

 

He entered, door shutting behind him, and already he’d picked out some C.O.’s he’d never seen before; probably from the Bolt ward. They were much bigger, though somehow softer looking. 

 

After that, Dean heard his name being called by Benny from the sofa in front of the big flat screen, a guy he didn’t recognize at his other side.

 

“Who let you in here?” Benny chuckled, fixing his cap. “Guessin’ it was Milton, right? Told ya that girl was sweet on ya.”

 

“What can I say? I’m a good egg.” Dean laughed, going to join them, casting a look over his shoulder for one person in particular. Though, he didn’t seem to be here. “Must be sweeter on you, though. She was telling me all about how you couldn’t be without me for ten seconds and wanted me right next to you on this extremely comfortable couch watching the game on that huge ass HD TV– and oh god, have I ever told you how much I love you, Benny?”

 

“Christ.” Benny breathed, absolutely done with Dean's shit by this stage, shaking his head. 

 

Dean laughed, getting himself settled, emerged in the immense glare of the TV, melting right into the sofa. It wasn’t much – but it was insane how much he’d missed the simpler pleasures of life. 

 

Not ten minutes into whatever they were watching, Dean was just focusing on not falling asleep against the fluffy cushion at his back, the door opened and the sound of cuffs being unlocked made Dean’s ears perk up, and he turned to see just who he’d been missing and remembered exactly why. 

 

Unconsciously, Dean's tongue skirted over his lower lip, eyes stuck on the narrow slope of his shoulders and thick lips that were pursed together in a sort of downwards smile. _Fuck_ he was just something – maybe Dean’d been in here too long and forgotten what the world had too offer, that had crossed his mind, or maybe he was just the best of a bad bunch – but then he remembered it hadn’t been that long and Castiel was an angel. 

 

Dean watched him move to the bookcase, lips parting a bit as his eyes followed, dropping to Castiel’s hands that wrung together when he rocked onto his tiptoes. 

 

Though the sound of a whistle made him snap back to reality, glancing at the table where the two hyenas were in raptures, doubling over with laughter. 

 

“Cassie catching Pretty Boy’s eye?” Alastair hissed through his laughing, chest bouncing, and honestly it couldn’t have been that funny. Dean flipped him off and turned back to watch the TV, folding his arms over his chest. 

 

“That guys been here forever, y’know.” Benny mumbled, pushing his hat back to scratch his forehead, before pulling it back into shape again. It strangely reminded him of Bobby.

 

“Alastair?”

 

“Nah, that one over there – Cassie or whatever.”

 

“Castiel.” Dean corrected absently, glancing over again as if on queue. Benny nodded. “How do you know?”

 

“I’ve been comin’ in here a long time. Since the program started.” He puffed and, though Dean had never asked, he found himself wanting to know what it was that Benny had actually done. They didn’t talk about it. That was his business – just like Dean’s was his. “So has he.” 

 

“Hmph.” Dean coughed a ‘ _There – you – go_ ’ sort of laugh, though he was actually intrigued. “He must be sort of stable if-” he’d started before a familiar tap on the shoulder had him flinching again. Dean turned his head, finding Castiel peering down at him, teeth nipping his lip – Dean felt like he was starting to do this to him on purpose. He suppressed a moan that wanted so badly to roll of his tongue because _fuck_...But he managed a smile instead. 

 

“Sorry but-”

 

“Your book?”

 

“Yes please.” Castiel said, edges of his lips tugging upwards slightly. Dean pushed himself up and went to the book case, having to stretch only a little to pull Castiel’s book down for him. 

 

“There – why does it keep ending up on the top shelf anyway? You’re the only one that seems to use the damn thing.” Dean scratched the back of his neck, catching sight of the dark blue eyes as they studied the cover of their book. 

 

“Um, someone usually puts it up there.” Castiel said, running a hand over the worn thing. “I think maybe Alastair – but it’d be wrong to blame him. I’d never know for sure.”

 

“I’m gonna go with my gut and say it was him. He seems like the bullying kind of dick.” Dean looked over at their table, having his assumptions confirmed at the sight of their hysterics – though they always laughed. It was oddly sinister. 

 

Castiel chuckled, eyes finally travelling upwards before they snapped back down again. “Anyway – thank you.” He nodded and went to sit down. This time, Dean wasn’t gonna let him go so easily. 

 

“So, what’s your book about?” He asked, following him to the table, pulling a chair out beside him, leaning on his arms, smirking over like a trouble making two year old. 

 

Castiel glanced at him with a furrowed brow, looking down again, making a low sound as if in thought. “It’s a love story.”

 

“A _love_ story?” Dean hitched a laugh, though it quickly vanished at Castiel’s disapproving look.

 

“Yes.” He said, quite serious. “It’s nice.” 

 

“And by nice you mean it’s full of nude scenes and rough sex on office desks, right?”

 

“Absolutely not.” Castiel, much to Dean’s surprise, laughed. “Could you imagine? In a place like this? This book would be long gone in it's new residence under someone’s bed.”

 

“Man, you’re right.” Dean shook his head, chuckling away. 

 

“Anyway, if you want to know what it’s about, whoever you are, you’ll have to read it.” 

 

“Fair enough.” Dean tapped his fingers on the desk, smiling over at him. “My name’s Dean.”

 

Castiel nodded, mirroring his smile, and Dean felt warm from the inside like when smoking his cigarettes on an especially cold morning - this was far better in comparison. “I’m Castiel.” 

 

Dean grinned like he didn’t already know that, before he got back to tapping the book, being struck by an idea. “I’ve never had much patience for books – you could read it to me?”

 

“Read it to you?”

 

“Sure, man. I got the time for a chapter a month.” Dean shrugged. “If you want, obviously.”

 

“Yes. That’d be okay. I could read it to you.” Castiel affirmed, still looking a bit puzzled. He opened the old thing up and went to start, taking in the breath and everything, before turning and letting it out with a string of different words. “ _Are you sure?_ ”

 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Dean. People usually don’t talk much to me, let alone read them an entire novel.” 

 

“I don’t scare easy, if that’s what you mean.” Dean hummed, maneuvering so his feet were up on the table, arms behind his head.

 

“No…No.” Castiel shook his head as if desperate. “I don’t mean to scare people-”

 

“Well, it’s their loss, Cas.” Dean let his eyes droop shut. “You don't scare me.”

 

*

It was a odd feeling waking up the next morning. He lay only for a second in bed while the O.C's went around yelling about an inspection and that it was time for the Early Bird workers to get ready for work - which happened to be Dean's shift for the day.

 

Maybe it was odd because the first thing to pop into his head was the last couple of lines from the chapter of Blue Horizons, read to him by Cas. 

 

_"...And he wondered, where all in this great world, she had come from. Like a hurricane on a baron land, she was intense and earth shattering remarkable. One gust of her had left him blown away. No matter what happened after that day, he would remember her as such forever._ "

 

Whatever the odd sensation was, it was quite contenting. Small fireworks were going off in his stomach, his chest was a little tighter and he was smiling - and now he couldn't wait until next month to hear the next part - who was he kidding? He couldn't wait to see Cas again. Here him tell the story like he was _made_ to tell stories. 

 

But, those thoughts had to go right now. Benny had practically trailed him out of the bunk when he was half ready because it was their turn for inspection. 

 

After that, he finished getting ready, noting mentally that he'd take a shower later, and went to the wash room. 

 

Upon arriving, however, Dean noticed something strange. Brooklyn was not there. The guy practically lived in the wash room. No matter what shift Dean did, Brooklyn was always there, hauled up in the corner with his coat over him like a homeless man.

 

Dean just figured he’d been here too long for the Screws to care anymore - wasn’t like he was doing any harm.

 

But what the most off thing about it was that his coat was left behind, so he _must_ have been here at some point. 

 

Dean scratched his chin and tried to fight the urge to go over to it and have a look. This guy was probably the most mysterious man here – out of the ones that Dean had actually seen or heard off. 

 

He gave into temptation anyway and went to have a look – just a little one – since maybe Brooklyn had just run to the bathroom or something. Dean picked the old, worn, thing up, hand sliding into the outside pockets. Nothing there except lint and a tissue.

 

The inside ones held the prize – a bunch of crumpled up pages.

 

Notes. 

 

With the name _Winchester_ scrawled on the outside.


	4. The Nick of Time

_3 Years 8 Months to Go_

 

The Work Schedule – Dean’s only saving grace (bar Cas and his beautiful reading voice obviously). 

 

Apart from that, it was one thing keeping Edgar at arms length. His job in the kitchen coincided with Dean’s in the laundry room – meaning Dean could easily slip out of view for the rest of the day when they were done with work. 

 

Schedules lasted the month, and for the last three, by some heavenly send, Dean and Edgar’s schedules matched up – both working the evening shifts. It was perfect and Dean actually took a second every day to thank the big guy upstairs – and by ‘Big Guy’ he meant the Warden, who he still hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting. 

 

Four months in a row would have been too much to ask – it wasn’t like him to be that lucky for that long. 

 

He went to the billboard in the main hall and pulled the sheet up a couple of times until he was at the last one for names beginning with _W_ , and then promptly up to _E_ for Amos Edgar.

 

To his horror, he found he’d be continuing with the evening shift…While Edgar picked up the morning. 

 

Dean was fucked – _literally_ \- for an entire month. 

 

Time was running out and Dean had little less than a week to figure out how he was going to get himself protected or become someone’s bitch for four whole weeks – maybe more. 

 

He didn’t have this problem with anyone else – just this asshole Edgar who was suffering from a severe case of ‘Little Man Syndrome’. 

 

Even so, this little man had plenty of back up, so who the hell was Dean to talk? Edgar, with Roman’s followers, could have anything he wanted in this prison. 

 

Dean wondered what he did – or was doing – for the big guy in charge. Maybe Roman was just another little guy with an ego twice his height. Maybe he was as big as Sammy – Dean didn’t know. He’d never actually seen the guy. 

 

Haven’s Borough was big enough – it was possible to see a new face everyday, if you schedule lined up the right way. 

 

Dean glanced up and down the hallway before lifting the sheets of paper again, scanning the first page for a Crowley – who he’d find outside if he got there quick enough.

 

Being sure to slow his pace when passing the C.O.’s who gave him side eyed glances, raising their eyebrows when he walked just a little too fast, he made it onto the yard, holding the door open while he scanned the packed area for Crowley’s scrunched up face – that, in Dean’s mind, bore a striking resemblance to a Pug.

 

He was at one of the picnic tables, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, with four others, engulfed in a game of cards. 

 

Dean rubbed his hands together and took a breath, striding towards the table with as much determination he could muster – he had to get some sort of deal going. Something to give him some time. 

 

“Crowley-”

 

“Ssh!” Crowley hissed, giving his head a shake, focusing on the cards with beady little eyes. “Not right now, Winchester.” 

 

“No. Right now.” Dean said, voice breaking a little with force. “This is in important.”

 

“So’s this!” Crowley finally looked up at him, taking the smoke out of his mouth. “You think I live my life in here to jump when you need me?”

 

“Listen.” Dean barked. “I wanna make a deal with you.” 

 

“Look at that,” Crowley said, laying his cards down. “I’m beginning to think you’re all letting me win.” He stood, taking the last few drags of the cigarette before putting it out on the table. “Regardless, have my things in my cell block before tonight. Thanks awfully.” 

 

He put his hands in his pockets and sauntered past Dean, motioning him to follow. Dean looked at him a little sceptically but cleared his throat and started into one of his best sales man speeches he'd used so many other times before. 

 

“So, how about this-”

 

“This is about the schedule, yes?” Crowley interrupted, digging around in his pocket for another fag. 

 

“Yeah…How did you know-”

 

“Look, sweetheart, are you going to get to the punch line sometime today?” he pulled out his prison issued lighter that barely produced heat, never mind a small flame. 

 

“Right. Well, I’m in trouble.” Dean tried to keep his hackles down. The guy was probably the only person in here who could help. “He wants more than blood, man…”

 

“Oh…That is trouble.” 

 

“Right?” Dean said hopefully. “So, you’ll help me out here?” 

 

“Well, of course.” Crowley looked at him, lighter still stuck at the end of the smoke, and for a moment, Dean thought he was being genuine. “What’d you get for me?”

 

Dean remained quiet, chewing the inside of his lip. He went to speak again but Crowley cut him off, raising his hand.

 

“Dean, oh,” He tisked “we talked about this-”

 

“C’mon, I don’t have another option here!”

 

“I could probably hook you up with a guy for butt plugs or something-”

 

“This is not fucking funny, Crowley.” Dean growled, grabbing the shorter mans duffle coat, looking over his shoulder momentarily. “I don’t have anything right now – but I can get you something. Anything. What do you want?”

 

Crowley shrugged, pouting, when he finally got the cigarette going. 

 

“Do you want me to beg?”

 

“On your knees? Or are you saving that for Edgar?” 

 

“Christ.” Dean let him go and rubbed, an admittedly clammy, hand across his forehead. 

 

“Aren’t you into that sort of thing?”

 

“No. I don’t think anyone’s into that sort of thing.” Dean snapped, temper rising. Crowley gave him another questioning look. “Rape, Crowley. It’s called rape.”

 

“C’mon.” He laughed, eyes crinkling. “Big fella like you?”

 

“You’ve been here longer than me – You _know_ Roman’s guys go around in packs.”

 

“Unfortunately.”

 

“So, yeah.” Dean said through his teeth. “I’m on that little shits jump list.” 

 

“Because of this whole ‘note’ situation, right?” Crowley resumed walking again, heading onto the grassy pitch that looked grey rather than green – much like everything and everyone else in there.

 

“Don’t go there.”

 

“No, it’s like a game of Cluedo.” Crowley thought, putting the smoke between his lips thoughtfully, watching the ground. “Let me see - It was the old man…With the coat…In the Landry Room.” He glanced up at Dean, who scowled again as his response. “Am I right?”

 

“Yes, yeah – good for you, want a round of applause?” Dean exclaimed, brow furrowed. “Obviously you know more about me than I do – so, are you gonna help me or not?” His legs stopped, refusing to move another step until Crowley gave him a straight answer – which just so happened to be:

 

“Nope.” 

 

*

 

Usually when this time of the month came around, Dean could have hopped, skipped and jumped to the room affectionately known as Day Care.

 

He’d see Cas, they’d read a chapter of that fucking Blue Horizon’s book, and then they’d just sit and talk and Dean was so god damn happy for those two whole hours, one of these days he swore he’d burst. 

 

But given the week he was having, Dean could barely manage a smile when he saw Cas sitting at their table, book ready to go. 

 

He passed Benny, who was happy in his own little world, entranced in professional sports, giving his shoulder a squeeze before heading over to Cas who smiled brightly.

 

Dean knew the guy was just glad for a little bit of company – and Dean was glad to have an old part of him back. That old confident, flirty, _sometimes inappropriate_ part. 

 

“Hey, Cas.” He puffed, sliding into the seat, probably looking as tired as he felt. 

 

“Hello.” Cas said, holding the book with both hands, though it was slowly being lowered back onto the table. Cas’s blues were bright and concerned. Dean knew better than to look into them all the time – people already suspected. He didn’t want to give them any more ammunition. “What’s wrong?”

 

Dean carded a hand through his hair, taking in a breath in an attempt to liven himself up a bit, but all he could think about was that coming Monday evening. 

 

“Same old…Living in a prison, loosing weight, making enemies. Y’know.”

 

“We don’t have to read today if you don’t feel like it.” Cas offered, but Dean shook his head, sitting upright again. 

 

“No, go on, I could use a distraction.” 

 

Cas stared, though eventually they landed back on the book and he started to read. 

 

“ _Riley had on two occasions met and spoke with this girl Clare-Ann from the_ -” Cas stopped, setting the book down. Dean tried to look interested. “You’re unhappy.”

 

“Cas, I’m fine.” Dean groaned, putting his head down. “Just read to me.” He’d admit he sounded more like a child than he’d meant but as of now, he didn’t care. He just couldn’t settle for more than five seconds – and damn, Cas’s voice usually just did things to him. 

 

Today, he kind of just wanted for Cas to put a hand on his shoulder, like he did sometimes, and look at him with that lovely, contenting smile, that just sang a song of ‘everything’s gonna be okay’ - and Dean would relax and they’d read the most clichéd book ever to be written into existence and the world would keep on turning.

 

“I will climb those shelves to get a dictionary and read you the definition of _fine_ , Dean, and I guarantee that tired, distant and alarmingly pale do not come under that heading.” 

 

“I haven’t been feeling great, alright, Sherlock?” 

 

“Well, what seems to be the problem?” Cas put the book down front-ways up to keep their place. 

 

Dean chuckled weakly. “So, you’re my doctor now? Maybe I should have called you Watson instead.”

 

Cas shrugged, staring at him. Dean shook his head, still smiling, though it was blatantly fake and plastered on. 

 

“Um, well, I just – I just didn’t get a good nights sleep.” 

 

“And?”

 

“And the food sucked in the cafeteria today.”

 

“And?”

 

“I’m homesick and I miss my family.”

 

“ _And?_ ” Cas pressed. Dean couldn’t look at him.

 

“And I’m in trouble.” 

 

“Bingo.” Cas said lowly, soft smile on his features. His hand went across the table and laid itself on Dean’s, the sudden warmth making him sigh. “What sort of trouble?”

 

Dean wasn’t sure how Cas did it, what magic mojo hocus pocus shit he had up his sleeve, but Dean just seemed to spill his guts around him. 

 

And honestly, he kinda liked it.

 

Dean pulled his chair closer into the table and clasped his hands together, as though trying to figure out the right way to say it. Cas looked on intently, watching Dean with an intensity that gave him chills – good chills. 

 

“Well, there’s this guy, Edgar…” He started, laying it all out, talking to the table so the words would travel on their own to Cas. All the details about the past year and these numerous ‘notes’ that kept being sent his way, yet he’d never found a freakin’ one. “…That was until I found them in Brooklyn’s jacket.”

 

“Brooklyn’s jacket?”

 

“Yeah, he had them all stored in there. Every last fuckin’ one.” Dean said under his breath, memory still riling him up. “Bastard.”

 

“Why did he have them?”

 

“Some bullshit.” Dean ran a hand over his hair. It wasn’t some bullshit – it was just easier to tell Cas that.

 

The real event had been a little more…distressing. 

 

When Brooklyn had eventually returned from wherever he’d been that day, he’d found Dean with the handful of notes and face like a disgruntled bear. 

 

The conversation had not been a calm one either. It had started with Dean approaching slowly, but as Brooklyn poured out the rehearsed crap he’d obviously been saving for this moment, it turned a little more violent. 

 

“Alright! Dean, alright! Please, just please-” Brooklyn had cried, craning his neck away from Dean who was holding him tight in place with no intention of letting the guy go. “I had too, okay? I had too.”

 

“You had to?”

 

To that Dean hadn’t received a voiced answer, just a look of terror from Brooklyn. Dean even heard him swallow. Finally Dean let him drop and ran his hands through his hair, beside himself.

 

“You realise what you’ve done - what’s going to happen to me?” Dean pressed, like he was scolding a child. Brooklyn nodded, wringing his hands together, lip quivering.

 

“I h-had too.”

 

Dean didn’t say anything. He just shook his head, balling the notes in his hand. 

 

“You don’t understand,” Brooklyn took his shoulders, eyes desperate. “It was the only way I could get away from them…”

 

Dean realised he hadn’t spoke in a while now and Cas was giving him one of those looks that only he could pull off. 

 

“So, what do you propose we do?” Cas said plainly.

 

“We?” Dean laughed now, though it was dull. 

 

“Yes. I’m involved now. It’s my duty to help you.”

 

“How’re you gonna help me from Crazy Street, huh?” 

 

Cas shrugged again, pouting, as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ve been here a long time, Dean, I know how these people work.”

 

Dean puffed a long sigh, pulling his fingers apart, feeling Cas’s eyes burn into his face. “Yeah? You know a guy called Crowley?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Really?” Dean looked sceptical. 

 

“Dean-”

 

“Alright, humour me then.” Dean clasped his hands and turned to smile at him like this was an interview or one of those old meetings he used to attend with gangsters like himself. “Tell me what to do, Master Yoda.” 

 

“Figure out what he needs.” Cas ignored Dean’s mocking tone, face firm and smooth as marble. “Not wants - _needs._ ”

 

“Helpful.”

 

“It’s not that hard to work out. It’s prison, Dean. There’s a lot of things a guy could need in here.”

 

Dean looked at him, eyes narrowed.

 

“Think about it.” Cas stared.

 

So, Dean did. He thought about it. What did Crowley need? What did he need?

 

He thought about the guys in there. He thought about their blocks. He thought about the rec room. The library. The yard. Wash room. Everything the guys need – in simple terms. 

 

What could a guy need in here? Men in this amount weren’t very hard to please. 

 

He thought about the small man himself, singling him out – because Crowley was a thing on his own. A whole snobbish, pompous breed of guy - striding around the yard like he owned the joint, all these men at his becking call, hands shoved in his duffle coat, lazy cigarette hanging out of his mouth. What the hell did he need?

 

Dean remained silent for a moment, mulling it over, wrecking his brain until suddenly he took a breath.

 

“Shit.” Dean said, smile growing on his face. 

 

“…I’m not going to ask about-”

 

“Power, Cas. The guy needs contacts.” Dean reached forward, grabbed Cas’s face and planted two big kisses to his cheek before standing up from his seat, not sure what just happened. “Excuse me, I have a phone call to make.” He winked, choosing to ignore Cas’s red face, wide eyes and parted lips. 

 

*

 

With two days to go before the new working schedule began, Dean had a surprise visit from Bobby, who was especially well dressed for a guy that had just travelled two states. 

 

“This is a nice surprise…” Dean half laughed, taking a seat in front of Bobby who still had his hand pressed in Deans’. 

 

“Well, can’t abandon ya up here,” Bobby shrugged, finally letting go to sit back in his seat. Dean did the same. “Hear Sam’s comin’ up on Monday.”

 

“Yepp.” Dean nodded, anxiety filling his stomach. “Spoke to him yesterday about my case.”

 

Bobby’s face lit up like a beacon. “Good for you, boy. Glad you’re finally startin’ to see sense-”

 

“What? No, no. Bobby, I’m still not gonna rat on my friends, alright?” 

 

“Dean-”

 

“What?!” Dean exclaimed, fuelled with frustration. He was tired of talking about this. 

 

Bobby’s expression dropped, mouth gaping. “So what the hell do you have to talk to him about?”

 

“Never mind.” Dean grumbled. 

 

“You’re kiddin’ me, right? I just ten hours to come and praise you for finally growing the hell up-”

 

“You shouldn’t have bothered then, Bobby.”

 

There was a dull silence between them. Bobby stared at Dean like he’d just sprouted a third eye in the middle of his head. When Dean was just about to scream ‘stop staring at me’ Bobby relented. 

 

“Forget it, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business anyway – we were just lookin’ forward to gettin’ you outta here is all.” 

 

“It’s alright.” Dean cleared his throat, looking at the table between then. “…So how is everyone?”

 

“Uh, good, yeah.” Bobby nodded, folding his arms on the table. “Jess took a little sick there-”

 

“She okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Got a Doctors appointment scheduled for next week.”

 

“That’s good.” Dean said, feeling a little strange about having such normal conversation that didn’t include foul language and sex jokes every three and a half seconds. “So why’re you all dressed up?”

 

“Because the night life in Kansas is superb.” Bobby replied snarkily, narrowing his eyes at Dean. “Why do you think?” 

 

“You got all dressed up to come see me? I’m flattered.” Dean scoffed, feeling a little warmed inside. 

 

“Yeah, well, don’t mention it.” Bobby grumbled, looking around him with a straight expression. “Ya made any friends?”

 

“Couple.” Dean shrugged. “Don’t get to see many of the guys with the way work falls.”

 

“Right, laundry boy.” Bobby looked deviously pleased by that.

 

“Hey, you try washing for a hundred different guys.” Dean puffed. “It’s certainly a lot different, I’ll give you that.”

 

“Different than robbing stores and intimidating people.” Bobby looked firm suddenly. Dean sighed

 

“I had my reasons.”

 

“Son, all you had to do was ask me.” Bobby said lowly. “That was all.”

 

“We weren’t your responsibility, Bobby.” Dean almost whined. “Besides, you were too far away.”

 

“Bullshit.” Bobby exclaimed. “You try gettin’ a call in the middle of the night from your frantic brother sayin’ your bein’ prosecuted for something neither him nor I knew about.” 

 

“What can I say, I’m good at keepin’ secrets.” 

 

“Yeah, look how that paid off.”

 

There time was up much quicker than it felt. Bobby put his arms around Dean, and Dean was sad to admit he felt the weight in the older man’s shoulders. 

 

“Well, I’ll get up as soon as I can again.” He said, patting Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Ain’t like I’m goin’ anywhere.” Dean chuckled, face falling when Bobby gave him a cold look. “Right, uh, take care of yourself. Tell Jess I was asking for her.” 

 

Bobby nodded, being approached by one of the C.O.s to be escorted out. He gave a last smile to Dean, giving him a small wave while Dean went out another door, back into the main hall. All of a sudden he was completely ridden with homesickness.

 

He bit his lip, trying to keep himself from frowning as he made down the hallway, wringing his hands together. Now he got why prison sucked. No matter how many friends he had there didn’t amount to what he had on the outside. His family. His life. And this was five years taken away from that.

 

His thoughts were suddenly disrupted at the sound of a deep yell. Dean’s ears perked out, holding his breath as if on instinct. He moved quietly along the hall, feeling like he was back at home suddenly. Like he was just a boy and his dad had just fell in through the front door drunk out of his mind. 

 

When he got to the corner, he peered around it, seeing the backs of two Screws he wasn’t quite familiar with – maybe they were from another block. This place was pretty huge. 

 

But between them, he could just about make out the small frame of a guy wearing his summer uniform, sleeves turned up like he was in a bad eighties movie, instead of federal prison – not to mention the mullet. 

 

Dean watched, eyes widening at the sight of batons being pulled out, the small guy getting pushed to his stomach, hands behind his head. 

 

“Please, please – I didn’t say anything! It wasn’t me!”

 

“You want put in Solitary for a month, you little shit?” One snapped, raising the club in his hand with quick force. 

 

“But I didn’t say it!”

 

“I don’t see anyone else around here – Now, I’m not gonna tell you again. Keep your mouth shut. You’re gonna learn to have a some respect, creepy fuck-” Just as the baton was cutting through the air, Dean stumbled out, mouth dry. 

 

For one thing it stopped them, so that much was accomplished. The other thing was that the attention was now on him and the Gaurds were stalking towards him, pointing at him with their thick clubs. 

 

“You’re in violation, inmate-”

 

“No, no,” Dean said a little breathlessly, making eye contact with the guy on the floor who looked just as shocked as he did. “Uh, there’s-there’s a fight…Broke out in the-uh the rec room!” He swallowed, holding his hands up in defence. 

 

They looked at him for a second, contemplating as if they should just hit him or not for good measure, before the batons were being put away and they pushed past him quickly, calling on their radios for assistance. Dean was honestly surprised it had worked but he didn’t have time to question it. 

 

The guy on the floor got to his feet, brushing himself off, straightening his shirt with a long breath from his mouth. “Thanks man…I owe ya one.”

 

“No problem.” Dean raised his eyebrows, glancing behind him for a second. “What the hell’d you do?” 

 

“Nothin’.” He chuckled a bit shaky on it. “A guy – Tony – called them something or others and long story short I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

“No kidding.” 

 

“Yeah…Uh, Ash by the way.” He said, holding out a hand with a lop sided kind of smile. Dean nodded, shaking his hand a little warily. 

 

“Dean.” 

 

“Well, thanks, Dean. Seriously, I just got out of the infirmary last week, I don’t feel too much like going back.” Ash laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “But I do owe ya one-”

 

“No, no. You don’t owe me nothin’, man. Just get outta here before they come back.” 

 

“Sure I do. C’mon. We’re gonna be late.” Ash beckoned him to follow.

 

“Late for what?”

 

“Just trust me.”

 

“Woah, man, I don’t know-”

 

“I don’t wanna ride you, man, I just wanna show you something.” Ash’s hands fell to his sides impatiently. “You majorly just saved my ass. You deserve to see this.”

 

“Can never be too sure.” Dean breathed.

 

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.” 

 

So, Dean followed Ash into a part of the detention centre he’d never been in before, through a block he had no idea existed. Sometimes this place didn’t seem so big, but when he thought about it, it was fucking massive. Just walls that men had to get used too. Just a hanging greyness that dulled everyone’s senses. Just some place for a large group of convicts to spend an allocated time.

 

The next thing Dean knew they were outside. Ash smiled at a couple of guys that grunted back in recognition or ruffled the shorter hairs on top of his head. 

 

“You new here, Dean?” Ash asked suddenly when they were walking across a pitch that was similar to the one he was used to.

 

“No, been here a year and a couple of months.”

 

“You’re new.” Ash confirmed, pushing his hands in his pockets, cool air stinging his bare arms. “Welcome to B Block.

 

Dean nodded. “How many blocks are there?”

 

“Four. Not including the Psycho Boys.” Ash said, still walking. Dean, being considerable taller, looked over him in the hopes he’d find out where they were going. Seeing nothing striking, he asked instead.

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

“Hey, said I owed ya, and I promise, this is worth it. Consider yourself lucky, not many guys know about this.” He took a sharp left behind one of the sheds, right against the high gates. Dean stopped and watched him, brow furrowing.

 

“There’s no way in hell I’m squeezing down there.”

 

“Dean, c’mon,” Ash said, sucking in as he pushed himself along. “trust me.”

 

“Yeah, no offence, I don’t. Even more so now.”

 

“After this you never have to again – but hurry because there’s not too much time.”

 

Dean indulged him with a heavy sigh, shuffling along behind the shed, almost bumping into him when he stopped suddenly with a smirk on his face.

 

“Please don’t look at me like that.” Dean murmured, shutting his eyes as if to block it out. 

 

“Just look through the fence, dumbass.” Ash sighed, leaning against the shed to cross his arms. Dean shook his head and pressed forward, squinting through the fence. Sure enough there was a huge grassy pitch, much like the ones they were used to seeing, and on the far side was a set of high mesh gates. 

 

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

 

“Just wait.” Ash hummed. Dean did as instructed, feeling a little foolish, until on the distance, he seen a form. A body. _A girl_.

 

His breath came up a little short as he pushed himself closer to the fence. Ash laughed. 

 

“Fuck me, is that a girl?” 

 

“Yep.” Ash stood up straight. “Keep watching, they’re heading back inside.” 

 

So Dean did, mouthing inaudible words to himself. It’d been so long since he’d seen this many girls in the one place. So many of them – all different sizes and shapes and colours and _woah_ …

 

He almost fell away from the fence when Ash pushed him aside. The only girls he’d seen in a whole year, were Anna Milton and Jess and what good were they to him. 

 

“How the hell did you find out about this?” Dean said after a second of regaining his voice.

 

“Been four years. Got bored.” Ash shrugged, eyes stuck on the fence. “I know they’re far away but man…”

 

“Are they inmates too?”

 

“Yeah. Havens Borough _Women’s_ Correctional Centre.” Ash stood back finally with a lazy smile on his face. “And they’re just across the field.” 

 

“Consider your debt owed, buddy.” Dean grinned, pushing him out of the way again for one last look, watching the girls on the distance file inside. 

 

Prison sucked, yes, but the place was full of surprises. 

 

*

 

Monday morning came early for Dean. He was up well before the call of alarm that got them all to their feet and dressed in ten minutes for inspection. 

 

In truth, he was nervous. He hadn’t seen nor heard from Edgar all week which was very worrying indeed and could only mean bad news. 

 

But, his saving grace was on his way, probably with a wonderful cup of coffee to settle his nerves before asking being bombarded with probably one of the most dangerous questions he’d ever been asked. 

 

Dean had no other choice and he was well and truly out of time. 

 

Sammy was right on time, entering the consultation room as expected with a steaming cup of coffee that already had Dean’s mouth watering. Though, his little brother looked less than happy. 

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean asked, reaching out with his uncuffed hand for warm, energy fuelled goodness in liquid form. 

 

“Kinda expected you to speak up about your colleagues today but I got a call from Bobby last night saying otherwise.” Sam breathed, setting himself down. “But anyway, what have you got for me?” 

 

Dean skirted a tongue over his lips, setting the cup on the table, clearing his throat before leaning in. 

 

“They can’t hear us in here, right?”

 

“Right.” Sam said, looking a little concerned. “Everything okay?” 

 

“No, Sammy. Everything is not okay.” Dean whispered anyway, swallowing thickly. “…I’m in a bit of trouble-”

 

“Dean.” Sam said through his teeth. 

 

“Just hear me out. Please – Sam I don’t have another choice.” He hissed, glancing at the door for a second before back to his brother, who’s face was hard as stone. “I…I need you to help me out.” 

 

“Listen, if you’re in trouble, you gotta take it up with one of these Officers, Dean – I really can’t help you unless it’s law related…As much as I’d want too.” 

 

“Are you kidding me? I just had to stop one of them from beating the living tar outta this guy, Ash – anyway, besides the point, Sammy, you’re the only person who can help me right now.” 

 

“Jesus Christ.” Sam muttered, rubbing his forehead, reading between the lines before Dean even said the next string of words.

 

“I can buy protection in here, okay. I just needa…Get some stuff in here – Nothing illegal! Just some stuff.” 

 

“Dean, you’re stepping over the line-!”

 

“I am about to be anally raped by the worlds largest dickhead, Sam.” Dean growled. “You _have_ to help me. Just for a little while…I have it all planned out-”

 

“I can’t smuggle stuff in here, Dean. I can’t – you know what’d happen? I’d get landed in here too!” Sam snapped, pushing his hair back behind his ear. “ _Fuck._ ”

 

Dean stayed quiet, chewing the inside of his lip while he brother had an inside meltdown before giving him a look. 

 

“I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this, Dean!” 

 

“I don’t have another option, Sam.”

 

“Tell one of the C.O.’s! That’s what they’re there for!”

 

“You don’t fucking understand!” Dean finally burst, trying so hard to keep his voice down, yet it still seemed to bounce of the walls. “I’m in here for you! I’m in here for helping you get to where you are in life, sitting across this table from me and you’re denying me this one fucking thing?” 

 

“Don’t you pull that card, Dean-”

 

“I’m pullin’ it, Sammy! I’m fuckin’ pullin’ it.” Dean barked, looking at the door on instinct. So far, no sign of the C.O.’s. He glanced back at Sam who’s expression had fallen significantly. “I’d do it for you.”

 

“Dean-” Sam swallowed.

 

“Just forget it. Who fuckin’ cares.” Dean sighed, defeated, rattling his chains before yelling. “Hey! I want outta here now, let me out-!” 

 

Sam frowned, looking at the table like a scolded child. Dean had done all he could for Sam his whole life. Everything – and it was heart breaking to think that the other wouldn’t repay it. Dean knew he was asking a lot, honestly, he did. But this one time he thought maybe the tables could turn. 

 

Dean Winchester just didn’t get that lucky. 

 

The doors opened while Dean was still mid shout to be let out, refusing to give Sam another look. They pinned his hands behind his back, doing up the cuffs again to lead him out. 

 

And just when Dean thought all hope was gone, the chair scraped off the floor and Sam called:

 

“Wait! Wait.” He said, approaching them hurriedly. “Can I just have one more moment with my client.” 

 

Dean remained hard faced while the C.O.’s tisked, tutted and sighed and left the room again, muttering about their precious time being wasted – go figure. 

 

“Fine.” Sam nodded, looking his elder brother right in the eye. “I’ll do it.”

 

A proud smile grew on Dean’s face. “Knew I could count on you, Sammy.”


	5. Strange Announcements

_3 Years 4 Months to go_

 

In the months that followed, Dean felt like he was walking around on egg shells. Things were going well for the very first time in what seemed like forever and all he could think about was those shells becoming dynamite. 

 

He had a lot of time to himself. A lot of time – most of it spent smoking furiously outside in the now late summer air, eyes skirting along the tops of the high fences at the back of the yard. 

 

Holding onto a single thought for more than a second was becoming more and more difficult. There was this unending list of bullshit let loose in his head, flying around as though they were a million paper aeroplanes. 

 

But there were a main few, in order as such:

 

1\. Sam  
2\. Crowley  
3\. Brooklyn  
4\. Gordon

 

How long could Sammy keep supplying him with what Crowley needed? How long ‘til he got caught out?

 

How long ‘til Crowley became unhappy with Dean’s protection payment? How long ‘til he was touchable again? 

 

_Where in Jesus’s name did Brooklyn go? Who put him up to hiding those notes?_ \- and yes, hiding. Dean had deducted that a long time ago. Why else would some guy he didn’t know from Adam, harbour notes sent by Roman’s team of starvo’s. 

And finally, Gordon. Of all things and people and thoughts, Gordon was up there and the reason for that was simple – if it wasn’t for him, Dean wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place. 

 

Dean threw the stub of the cigarette down and put it out with the tip of his boot, blowing the remaining smoke out of his mouth. He’d never smoked so much in his life but as of now it was the only thing calming him down. 

 

Well, not the only the thing. 

 

That guy, Cas, was having a pretty big affect on the calming down process too. But seeing him only once a month was certainly less than ideal – though he’d learned to take what he could get and like it. 

 

And to be honest, he wasn’t just _That guy, Cas,_ anymore. He was Dean’s friend. Dean’s very good friend- that also happened to be the only piece of eye candy in the joint. 

 

All joking aside, and Castiel’s good looks, Dean was really _really_ fond of him. And it was a nice sensation to remember in the midst of all these other thoughts, even if it did make him feel somewhat guilty. 

 

“Winchester.” A voice startled him from behind as he turned. “You’re brother’s here to see you. Again. For the second time this month.” Dean shrugged, rolling his eyes in a ‘what-can-ya-do?’ sort of way as he went to move past the C.O. known affectionately and not so affectionately as Wacky Zachy. 

 

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, squeezing as he turned Dean around again, narrowing his piggy little eyes in an attempt to read a poker face Dean had perfected over the years. 

 

“What’s he working on now?”

 

“Trying to get me out.” Dean blinked, sniffing a bit, not breaking eye contact even for a second. 

 

“Specifically, Winchester.” 

 

“Getting me out of here sooner rather than later – listen, sir, can I go now? I’m paying for this time with my brother, so-”

 

“So _what_?”

 

“So it’s none of your business!” Dean snapped, still feeling the bite of edginess, before forcing himself to calm down. Solitary and the type of thoughts he was having did not mix well together. “Sorry, I-”

 

“You’re damn straight you’re sorry.” The hand on his shoulder moved to the centre of his shirt, dragging him in closer. So close, Dean could smell the coffee off his breath. “You aren’t going to speak to me like that again, is that clear?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Dean mumbled, keeping his face straight. 

 

“I know you _think_ you are someone because you were a glorified hood-rat out there. But I’ll tell you this,” He flexed his knuckles around Dean’s shirt, eyes narrowing in on his, “In here you don’t even make rat status. You’re a number. You wear your grey suit and you do what we tell you ‘til them big gates get opened and we set you free – and even then, we’re watching. So do yourself a favour, Winchester, and get off. Your high. Horse.” He said the last few words through his teeth, making Dean scrunch his nose at the spittle that sprayed his cheeks. 

 

“Okay.” He swallowed, eager now just to get away. 

 

Finally, Zachy’s hand unclenched and he was good to go, so without hesitating he did, straightening his shirt out on the way. 

 

*

 

Sammy was waiting for him in the normal room, drumming his fingers incessantly on the table, two cups of coffee in the space that would soon be between them.

 

Dean smiled, being set in his seat, and cuffed to the table. Sam raised his eyebrows, going back to reading the papers in front of him – or pretending to at least until the Screws were well out of sight. 

 

When they were gone and the door was securely shut behind them, Dean leaned forward on an impatient breath. 

 

“Well?” He asked, reaching forward for the coffee. “Where you able to get everything?” 

 

“Look and see for yourself.” Sam mumbled, still looking at the paperwork in front of him.

 

Dean did as instructed, unscrewing the plastic cap of the first coffee cup. He peered in to find numerous cigarettes, lighters and matches, ear phones, string – for some reason – and in the other, were those small bottles of alcohol they normally serve on flights. Nothing too big – but enough to keep Dean’s ass out of danger for another while.

 

He let out a breath, taking his boot off, lifting the flap in the inset of sole. Crowley got one of the inmates to do it for him. That way he could carry things back and forth without being caught on. It was pretty fool proof so far.

 

Dean took the note, with more scribbled requirements for next week, and stuck it in the empty coffee carrier, passing it back to Sam.

 

“So, we’re done then?” Sam said, going to stand, lifting all the useless bits of paper with him. Dean gave him a bit of a bemused look.

 

“Don’t you wanna talk for a while?”

 

“…What do you want me to say?” Sam shrugged, looking away. Dean continued to stare, however, mouth parted in, frankly, a little shock. “I’m not particularly thrilled about doing this.”

 

“Sam.” Dean pinched the bridge of nose, letting out a long breath. “I’m not _particularly thrilled_ either but I-”

 

“Yeah, you need help. I know.” Sam eyed him then, face firm. “But I can’t do this forever. Find another way out.” 

 

Dean chewed the inside of his mouth, putting a hand on the table, staring Sam out. He’d gotten even better at that during his time here. “I’m gonna.” He shrugged. 

 

Sam grumbled, a small wince escaping his lips. “Y’know, you’re just like them now.” He exclaimed. “This whole attitude…I can see, you’re trying to intimidate me.”

 

“No, I’m not!” Dean protested, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Yeah! You are, Dean. You think you’re the only inmate I’ve ever interacted with? I just assumed you’d be smart enough to remain the same. But I guess tarnish is tarnish, no matter where you are.” 

 

“Don’t, Sam.” Dean said under his breath. “Don’t go there – I just need a bit of help right now and let’s leave it at that. I don’t want to fight with you.” His face softened. Sam sighed. 

 

“Okay. But, I’m serious. I’m not doing this for the rest of your time in here. I’ve gotta take care of Jess and I’m not risking that.”

 

“That’s fine, Sammy. Thanks.” Dean said genuinely, offering a half smile as his gaze met the table. He knew he was taking his little brother for granted – and hey, maybe Sam was right. Maybe being here was starting to wear off on him. It had been well over three years. 

 

*

 

An announcement was made over the tannoy that there would be a presentation held in the hall from the Warden himself in exactly thirty minutes. Dean glanced over at Benny, who was doing a crossword, only to find he was looking back.

 

“Mikey Novak’s back from Sabbatical.” Benny said a little snarkily. “Wonder if ya can take that from bein’ an inmate?”

 

“Dunno. We should inquire.” Dean stifled a laugh, pushing himself out of his seat as the C.O.s began pacing up the rows, batons out, as the men started presenting themselves at the ends of their bunks. 

 

Dean looked down the rows, finding Crowley curling a piece of string around his fingers, smarmy little grin replacing his ever thoughtful stare. Again Dean found himself wondering what this guy had done – what all these men had done. No one ever asked. No one ever talked about it. Why should he?

 

They found themselves in yet more rows, this time with seats in alphabetical order, with Officers Milton and Adler inspecting the rows with clipboards to make sure everyone was there. As if anyone could get out of this. 

 

Amongst the grey now were some blue uniforms, and with every blue uniform came even more of the prison staff. Big men wearing all white, guiding them in with steady hands, seeming unfazed by almost everything that came out of their mouths. Dean watched with a bit of a smile, not thinking until a hand movement brought his attention to the wide smile of one particular Bolt – 

 

“Cas?” He sat up, taking a second for his brain to signal his hand into waving back. It was a nice couple of seconds between them, before Cas’s hand was snapped down by his side again by one of the passing officers. Cas ducked his head down and filed into his seat. Dean was infuriated. 

 

The hall was packed to bursting point, and at exactly twelve pm, the double doors at the back of the room swung open, yet more officers and C.O.’s piling in, with huge dogs and guns like some kind of very dark parade. 

 

It was unlike anything Dean had ever seen during his time here, unable to keep his eyes following them the whole way up the aisle, their boots clicking in formation. 

 

When all was settled and the Officers had taken their place at the front, dogs to the outside, guns in the middle, a tall, dark, very well kept man approached the podium. He didn’t say anything for a whole minute, just glaring at the inmates beneath him like they were his army. 

 

“Good afternoon, Inmates.” He said, finally. The room erupted with answer, making Dean flinch a bit as he looked around. 

 

“Good afternoon, Mr Novak.” 

 

“As you all know, I’ve been away for quite some time. But I have returned now and have no plans to depart between now and the relatively near future. I hope.” Dean was in awe at the complete silence of the hall. You could hear a pin drop, and that was no exaggeration. Things hadn’t been this quiet since – well, ever. 

 

“I’ve come back very pleasantly surprised at the way things have been running in my absence, so I have some good news to share.” 

Dean sighed, lips pursing. Good news was a new dinner menu. Good news was a not so lumpy pillow. Good news was getting to see Cas more than once a month. 

 

“Myself and the Warden from Havens Borough Women’s have decided upon an initiative that is to join our inmates together for one day of the year, for certain activities and mingling opportunities.” Mr Novak clasped his hands together behind his back, looking over the grey sea, dotted with blue. “A list has been conjured by Officer Milton and Officer O’Donnell from the Psychiatric ward, deciding who will be lucky enough to join us on this day.” 

 

The smile on this guys face looked so unnatural it was actually quite terrifying. Mr Novak was hard looking, with pointed dark eyes – he was handsome, though. Quite like someone Dean knew but couldn’t quite place. 

 

“Names will be listed on the board in front of Block A, questions are to be taken up with Officer’s Milton or O’Donnell, though I trust there won’t be many. Thank you for your time, it’s good to be back.” 

 

_Good to be back?_

 

Where exactly did Mr Novak think he was? Havens Borough was hot in summer, but it was no tropical paradise. 

 

***

 

The bad thing about being infatuated with a mentally ill or unstable convict was the uncertainty.

 

As much as Dean loved thinking about Cas, and that sharp jaw line, and those thick lips, he always felt like he shouldn’t because…Well, because he shouldn’t. Cas obviously wasn’t mentally stable, and god knows what he’d done to land himself in Bolt ward with the likes of torturers and guys claiming they'd been possessed.

 

Though, the blue eyed boy seemed like he was the best of a bad bunch, and that much was allowing Dean the small pleasure of appreciating a good looking face that this place oh so desperately lacked.

 

Once again, he’d been lost in thought at the toned curve of Castiel’s shoulders when Benny snapped his fingers right in Dean’s ear.

 

“You made summer camp.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Y’know, play time with the girls next door?” Benny raised his eyebrows, sauntering into the bunk with his hands in his pockets. 

 

“Oh…Really?” Dean asked, sceptical. 

 

“Mmhm. Me too.” 

 

“Oh, good. When is it?” 

 

“They’re escortin’ us over there tomorrow afternoon.” Benny nodded, leaning against the half wall with something of a smile. Dean still felt wary. “...Someone else made the list.”

 

“Benny, what’re you talkin’ about, man?”

 

“A certain Bolt…” He sang, throaty laugh and smirk making Dean roll his eyes. “Which is pretty weird…If ya ask me.”

 

“How’s it weird?”

 

“You not notice the Bolts don’t get outside?” It struck Dean then that _no_ he hadn’t noticed that. “He’s the only one.”

 

“Maybe he’s…Not so crazy anymore.” Dean said, trying not to show how much that made him light up. 

 

“Doubt it.” Benny puffed. “Guy’s silent crazy, y’know?”

 

Dean could feel himself getting defensive. “Hey, Cas is alright-” 

 

As if on queue, an unknown C.O. presented himself at the bottom of their bunk, standing motionlessly until Benny and Dean had been quiet for over thirty seconds. “Winchester.”

 

“Um, yeah – yes, sir. That’s me.” Dean cleared his throat, filling up with caution, thinking he’d fucked something up again. 

 

“Mr Novak would like to see you regarding the excursion tomorrow.”

 

“Just me?”

 

“Yes.” He said, stepping aside to let Dean past, but Dean didn’t move.

 

“Why?”

 

“Now, Winchester.” The C.O. snapped, and Dean had no option but to do as he was told.

 

The strangeness about the situation did not relent, even as he was stood before Mr Novak. The door shut behind him, leaving Dean in the elaborately furnished office, that was wonderfully cool compared to the rest of the building. However, he couldn’t quite loose himself in it, given the way Mr Novak’s eyes were drilling into him.

 

The confident side left in Dean eventually had him staring back until Mr Novak put a hand out for him to take a seat in front of him.

 

“It’s good to finally meet you, Winchester. I’ve heard a lot of things about you.”

 

“It’s good to finally meet you too.” Dean said, maybe sounding a little more confused than he would have liked.

 

Mr Novak nodded, leaning forward to clasp his hands on the desk. “I suppose you’ve noticed your invitation to our ‘Mingle Day’.” His fingers came up to air quote before setting back on the desk.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Well, I wanted to explain your reason for attending personally.” He hummed, eyes never breaking away. Dean sat back in his seat, pursing his lips. “You’re familiar with one of our inmates on the psychiatric ward?”

 

“Which one?” Dean asked, knowing exactly who he meant, but thinking twice about just coming out and saying it. Years in the mob had taught him that.

 

“Castiel.” Michael Novak said sharply, before taking in a breath. “He asked specifically that you be invited.” Dean really wasn’t sure where this was going, but he didn’t like the look on the Warden’s face. “Tell me, Winchester. Do you know who Castiel is?”

 

“Well…In what context?” Dean scoffed, trying to relieve some of the tension, but there was no hint of a smile on Mr Novak’s face. “No sir, I just know him from the programme.”

 

“Castiel is my younger brother.” Suddenly Dean understood why he’d looked so familiar now. “And as my younger brother, I don’t want to see him emotionally invested in the likes of you.”

 

“He’s not emotionally invested in me.” Dean shook his head.

 

“Well, I beg to differ.” Mr Novak smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “As glad as I am to see him coming out of his shell and taking part in things he wouldn’t have…I just can’t help but feel somewhat reluctant.”

 

“Reluctant?”

 

“Yes. You’re due for parole in little over two years…What happens to Castiel then?” Mr Novak asked. 

 

“Okay, um, Mr Novak…” Dean sat up, putting his hands up. “Look, Cas – Castiel is just my friend. I assure you I haven’t done anything to make him think otherwise…If that’s what you mean-” 

 

“It doesn’t matter what you did, Winchester. Castiel is fond of you.” 

 

That silence started circling again like a vulture around Dean’s head. Now he was just fucking conflicted. He shook his head, looking at the Warden again.

 

“I didn’t do anything, Mr Novak.” Dean implored, thinking he was in trouble, but that was a serious lie. The more he thought about it, it was. He _had_ been too flirty with Cas. Too lingering in his looks. Too open.

 

Castiel was a Bolt for a reason. Just like all the other Bolts – and here Dean was pursuing a crush with a guy that had little to no human contact with anyone other than his brother. 

 

Fuck, if that didn't make him feel like shit.

 

“Well, you’d be about the only one that does. So, can you really blame him?” Mr Novak pursed his lips. Dean found the tension relieving itself from his shoulders as he let his lips seal together again, swallowing. This was not the turn he'd been expecting. “…I’m not sure if this is such a good idea or not, but I want you to see him more often…As much as it would displease me.”

 

Dean stayed quiet, feeling guilty about how good that made him feel, but revelling in the relief that came with being out of trouble for once. 

 

“He’s improving. Whatever you’re doing, is working.” Mr Novak said before leaning forward, finger pointed in Dean’s direction. “But, the second I find this becomes inappropriate, Winchester, I’ll throw you in Solitary for the duration of your stay, is that clear?”

 

“Yes.” Dean nodded once. Mr Novak waved a hand to signal he was finished, so Dean stood.

 

“You’ll accompany him tomorrow, and then we’ll set up an arrangement.” He said, watching Dean carefully. “You’re to keep this to yourself.”

 

“Alright.” Dean shrugged with a smile, happy to oblige. He edged towards the door as it opened, Mr Novak didn’t say anything else as he was taken by the arm and escorted back to his Block. 

 

This was turning out to be one hell of a week – but such was life these days. Dean was just glad for the distraction.


End file.
